Bad Boys
by ThievesOverBullies
Summary: A/U-What happens when one sexy Officer Locksley meets a spirted librarian named Regina Mills. Everything!
1. Chapter 1

_**(A/N-Special thanks to Bekki boo for beta reading this. This one shot is now a multi-chapter fic. I added in chapter 2 later in this chapter. Hope you enjoy!)**_

* * *

Time, time is a funny thing.

Because at times you want time to freeze. Moments and days.

Then there are days you want to wish away.

Three hundred and sixty-four days.

That's was Regina Mills first thought upon waking this day. Her eyes were still closed, wanting to stay in her dreams.

There are three hundred and sixty-four days before doom and destruction would descend on her in the form of her thirtieth birthday.

Three hundred and sixty-four measly days.

It's not nearly long enough. She feels like she's practically already on her deathbed. She can feel her skin drying out and wrinkling as she lays there. Her bones are getting brittle. If she slipped and fell, she'd likely snap a femur. Gone are the days of being carded at nightclubs and bars.

She groans and pulls the covers over her head.

She's twenty-nine, and she feels like she hasn't anything in her life. The end is near. She's almost thirty.

She might as well keep her eyes closed.

Before she can give in to slumber, her cell phone rings. Curiosity drives her to pick it up. There are only two people who ever call her this-her mom and her brother—and neither would ever dare to call so early in the day.

Regina looks at the name on the screen and sigh. If she ignores it, Belle will just call back.

After pushing accept, she puts the phone to her ear. "Really? A phone call? Is your keyboard broken or something?" Because seriously. Who calls instead of texts?

"What?" Belle asks, confused by her greeting.

Perhaps Belle hasn't known her long enough to find her fussiness endearing. "Nothing. What's up?"

"Not much. I'm not working with you today, and I wanted to check up on you." It's only been two months since she transferred to Storybrooke Library, and yet it's been long enough for the extremely nurturing (and extremely extroverted) children's information specialist, Belle Gold, to have taken her under her wing. Though at times she teeters on overbearing, Belle finds that she's quite fond of her. "You seemed a bit down when you left the bar last night. Everything okay?"

"Except for the quickly approaching occasion of my death, I'm great!"

"Oh brother. Drama queen much?" Regina throws the covers off and climb out of bed. "Am I, though? Or am I a realist? Facing my inevitable doom head on?"

"It doesn't sound like you're facing anything of the sort. You're lamenting. Dramatically lamenting. Everyone gets older. And sometimes you're lucky to turn thirty. You still have a year before you do. Welcome to life, sister."

Regina shuffles toward her kitchen as she talks, heading for the Keurig that she had bought herself as a birthday present. It's been one day, and she's already in love forever.

"Don't you mean 'welcome to death?" She puts in a pod of southern pecan, push start, and wait for happiness to pour into her Mirror, Mirror On The Wall Who's The Fairest-Oh Forget It mug.

Belle doesn't think the joke is funny. "This is really bothering you, isn't it? Why do you think that is?"

Oh God. She didn't really want to talk about her feelings.

Regina sighs, a favorite pastime of hers. "I don't know. I'm just missing something. There has to be more than this." From the kitchen, she looks around at the two-bedroom condo. She was able to afford the down payment by using the last of her inheritance from Grams, the rest of it having gone to pay for her Humanities and Western Civilization degree. Her personal book collection is already close to outgrowing the space, but it's been all she's ever needed. Exactly what she's always wanted.

Why does it feel so empty?

"You need a man," Belle says decidedly.

"I don't. That is not what I need." Regina means it, too.

"I know it's a weird dating scene out there now, but I do have a brother who is a-"

"Belle, I don't need a man." But Regina does need something. She runs her finger down the edge of the pamphlet that's been hanging on her fridge behind the Chinese delivery menu since she had visited the fertility clinic last month.

Is this what she needs?

The cost for artificial insemination isn't as much as she's expected. She could swing it if she really tried, even on a librarian's salary. But a nameless father… Her mother would go ballistic.

Cora Mills was not one you wanted mad at you.

Still. She's mulling it over.

Now that death is fast approaching, she should probably mull faster.

"You don't even miss sex?" It seems like an innocent question, but from Belle, she's certain this line of questioning is the kind that will lead to a blind date if she's not careful.

"My vibrator works just fine," Regina informs her. "And isn't cocky or conceited and doesn't leave."

"No, it just runs out of batteries."

"I have the rechargeable kind."

"That's not the same. Listen, Regina, I'm going to give you some hard words of wisdom." But she doesn't hear what she has to say because a series of beeps covers her speech, indicating she's received a text. Several texts.

Regina pulls the phone away from her face to read the messages.

So, I think I'm in trouble.

Like big trouble.

Like really, really big trouble & now the cops R here and U might need 2 bring bail cuz my mom's working at the hospital and my dad is working as well, they can't come help me but I did something.

Regina

REMEMBER ME WHEN I WASTE AWAY IN JAIL.

WHAT IF I MISS THE NEXT SEASON OF GOT?

They're from Violet, a teen that she worked with a lot at the library. Now she's a legit drama queen.

Regina puts the phone back to her ear. "Hang on a sec, Belle." Then she types Violet a quick message.

What's going on? BE BRIEF.

Violet responds with a panoramic picture of what looks to be the parking lot of her high school. Regina can't make out much of what's going on except there are lots of cars lined up behind her, there's a policeman, and it appears Violet has chained herself between two trees and has therefore created a barricade across the school driveway.

Today the drama seems to be warranted.

After quickly saying goodbye to Belle, Regina shoots another text to Violet.

Be right there.

Regina throws on some leggings and an oversized T-shirt that maybe should have been in the laundry instead of on the chair in her bedroom. Then she throws her hair into a messy bun and check Violet's response.

U R the best! Pick up an iced caramel macchiato on your way? Kthnx.

Regina didn't stop for the damned iced caramel macchiato.

Traffic seems to be flowing okay when Regina arrives at JCM, Ryan's high school. She pulls her car up to the parking space closest to the commotion and survey the situation before getting out.

As the picture suggested, Violet's blockade must have been preventing cars from rounding the circle drive for morning drop off. The chains are gone, but traffic has been diverted to another entrance because she's still standing in the middle of the driveway. She's wearing a gold and purple cheerleading uniform and holding a sign with letters so bold Regina can read them from here: Your Impure Thoughts are Not My Problem.

Regina feels like she knows what Violet is doing.

Violet's only fourteen, but she's already a social activist. She rarely misses an opportunity to protest when she feels a person or a group has been wronged. One day she marched outside the library fighting for mothers' rights to breastfeed in public. Another day she joined her church youth group at Civic Hall to protest the taxation of groceries. Once she handed out pamphlets at Crown Center about the plight of the sperm whales.

Regina does care a lot about the emotions of this fiercely passionate girl. She's well-meaning and big-hearted. Whatever trouble she's gotten herself into, she hopes that she can help her out of it.

She chugs the last of her southern pecan coffee—she's so glad that she thought to bring it with her(She's going to need the caffeine)—and step out of her car. Immediately she can hear Violet's voice.

"Do I give you impure thoughts?" she shouts to a group of tardy students as they hurry toward the school. "Do I?"

Oh dear.

Though class has surely started, there is a small crowd gathered near her. Several adult women are there—probably administrators—a couple of teenage girls, and a police officer.

Regina makes her way toward them.

The cop is talking with one of the adults as Regina approaches, his back to her.

"You're strong enough to pick her up," the woman tells him. "I can tell you work out." She's flirting so hard she can hear it from yards away.

"CrossFit," the cop says with a shrug. "Five days a week."

God, he's one of those. Cocky. Conceited. Cop-like. Regina knows his type. She prepares herself for their upcoming interaction.

"It's completely obvious," the flirter continues. "Why don't you just move her yourself? Carry her fireman style." She's good at this. She has black hair, pasty white skin that is so unnatural it had to have been applied, and red, red lips. Regina has a feeling seduction is her primary hobby, if not a part-time job.

"I can't touch a female minor—it's against department policy. We'll have to wait for the woman officer dispatch is sending over. But I appreciate the use of the bolt cutters."

Bolt cutters. So that's how they dealt with the chains. Now that she can look, she sees a pool of silver links by the tree on this side of the road.

Oh, Violet. What did you do?

Patiently, she waits behind the cop waiting for a good time to interrupt.

"I'm not a minor," one of the teenagers says, twirling a long piece of dirty blond hair between her fingers. "I'm eighteen. You could touch me, Officer Locksley."

…and this seems to be the moment.

"Pardon me," Regina says in her librarian (aka friendly but assertive) voice. "What's going on?"

When she hears her, Violet spins in her direction. "Regina!" She almost runs to her then seems to remember she's not budging on purpose. "Hey, where's my Starbucks?"

Regina throws a stern glance at her then shift her eyes back just as the cop turns around.

And then she understands what all the fuss is about.

He's hot.

Like, I-forgot-what-I-was-going-to-say hot.

I-should-have-shaved-my-legs hot.

Here's-my-panties-sorry-they're-so-wet hot.

Regina's not even sure exactly what it is about him. His body? His closely trimmed scruff? His sober expression?

The oversexed Snow White wasn't exaggerating when she said he obviously works out. His arms fill out his sleeves, and even with all his gear on, I can tell his shoulders are broad and his waist is trim. He's obviously in great shape. He's, like, can-I-touch-your-guns fit, and she's never thought in her life she's use the word guns to refer to a guy's muscles, but it's appropriate.

And yet, as hot as his bod is, it's his face that has her heart stuttering. His cheeks and jaw are chiseled, the jut of his chin is hidden somewhat by his scruff. His nose is straight and strong, and, then, damn. The pièce de résistance are his aviator sunglasses, which make him look like sex in a blue uniform.

It's possible she needs to go lie down.

"And you are?" Officer Too-Hot-To-Remember-The-Name-She-Just-Heard-Him-Called asks.

"I'm…here," Regina says because she can't seem to find the answer to his question when he's staring at her, and she can feel that he is, even behind those metallic lenses.

"Yes. You are." He almost smiles, and she has a feeling that isn't something he does on the job all too often. He's much too solemn. Too professional. Too all about the facts and nothing but the facts, and holy Jesus she's thrilled to provide him with whatever facts he wants.

Just as soon as Regina has a clue of what the facts are.

"That's Regina," Violet chirps behind us, reminding her of that specific fact. "She's here for me!"

Bolstered by this bit of information that she can give with confidence, Regina proudly says, "That's right. I'm Regina. Regina Mills."

With both hands on his duty belt, the cop looks from Regina to Ryan and back to Regina again. "Are you her…mother?"

"No!" Regina gasps, completely horrified. "Oh my God, do I look old enough to be her mother? She's fourteen! I'm not old enough to have a fourteen-year-old daughter."

"Her mother's been called," one of the women says from behind him. "And her father. Both were unavailable."

Regina smirks as though she's proved some kind of point.

The cop, who hasn't taken his focus off of Regina, simply says, "It's my job to ask, ma'am."

Regina shudders. "Don't call me ma'am." As an afterthought, she adds on, "Please."

There's no response from the police officer.

Silently, she continues to fumes.

The one fortunate side effect of the humiliating reminder that she's aging (and apparently not so gracefully) is that it's knocked her out of the this-cop's-too-hot-to-think stupor. "I'm her friend," she informs him. "I work with her at the library. She texted me when she thought she might be in trouble."

The cop—Officer Locksley, she recalls now-looks at her sternly, his expression giving nothing away. "Do you have some identification on you?"

"Does it look like I have identification on me?" Regina doesn't have any pockets, and she's not carrying a purse. In fact, she thinks that she might have left so fast that she didn't even throw it in the car. Shit. Just what she needed this day. A ticket for driving without a license. "Do I need my ID?"

He looks Regina over from head to toe. Regina wishes that she could see his eyes so she could have an idea of what he's thinking. "No, I suppose not."

"Good." Regina relaxes enough to get in a decent breath. "Then we can deal with the matter at hand. What exactly is happening?"

"Well, as you can see, the minor—"

"Violet Knight. She has a name." Regina can already tell Violet's going to be in trouble. Officer Locksley doesn't seem like the kind of guy to let something slide. Maybe if he sees her as a person instead of just "the minor," he'll give her a break.

"The minor," he continues as if she didn't say a word, "chained herself in between these two trees on either side of the school's driveway, thereby causing a traffic jam at this morning's drop off. We've cut the chains with bolt cutters procured from the school office by the attendance secretary—"

"That's me! I found them!"

Great. Oversexed Snow White's a hero.

He turns toward the woman and nods appreciatively with just enough smile to send a blush crawling up her face.

His smile is actually killer. Regina almost wishes that she had been the one to bring those bolt cutters just so that he'd bestow that smile to her.

Officer Locksley returns his attention to Regina. "But the minor has refused to move. We're waiting for backup to proceed."

Regina sends a glare at Violet. Refused to move? Are you kidding me?

Of course she can't read her mind, but she gets the gist and she shrugs.

"How much trouble is she going to be in?" Regina asks the cop, softer now that she realizes that she has nothing to bargain with.

"We can talk about that once we resolve our situation here."

Regina shifts her weight to one hip, trying to come up with a way out of this for Violet, "If I can talk her out of this…get her back into the school before anyone else gets here…would that make a difference?"

"It's not just up to me." He turns to look at the group behind him.

As if he's beckoned her, one of the women walks over to them—not the flirty attendance secretary, but the one who called Violet's parents. "Hi, I'm Diane Miller, the principal here. Thank you for coming. We'd love to be able to work this out with as little excitement as possible." She whispers the last part of her sentence, as though that will automatically minimize the drama of the situation.

At least she seems like an easier pushover than Officer No Nonsense. "Will there be any consequences if I make that happen?" Regina asks.

"I can't let her actions go completely unpunished. Half of the school saw what she did here today. I can't let that slide."

"You're right," Regina says with a tone that says she clearly disagree. "In fact, how about I call Channel Nine and have them cover the protest so far? Make sure no one misses it when they drag her away in handcuffs later too? Violet can even make a statement. Sound good, Violet?"

"Yes! Statement!" She bounces on the balls of her feet. "I already have one prepared!"

The color drains from Diane Miller's face. "On second thought, I think we could probably get away with just a warning. If you can get her back in class without any press finding out, that is."

"Okay, okay," Regina feels the tide is turning. "What is she protesting anyways?"

Violet pipes up in answer. "This stupid school has banned cheer uniforms on game days. Cheer uniforms! Because some boy complained it made him think impure thoughts. As if women are to blame for what men think. It's ridiculously unfair. I cry injustice!"

"Why does she even care?" another female teen says.

"Right?" her friend replies. "She's not even a cheerleader."

"I'm a cheerleader, Officer Locksley," the first one calls to him.

"Of course you are," he mutters under his breath, and Regina almost feelsl sorry for him.

Almost.

"It's only during the school day, Violet," Principal Miller says. "They can still wear their uniforms at the games."

"That's not even the point!" Violet groans.

"You really banned the cheerleaders from wearing their uniforms because a boy complained of impure thoughts?" Regina asks. "I hate to tell you this, but teenage boys are going to have impure thoughts no matter what girls are wearing."

"She's not wrong there," Officer Locksley admits under his breath, but enough that Regina heard him.

"Certainly." Regina's smile is tight. Fake. The kind of smile that accompanies a lecture. "But we believe in respectful behavior at our school, Ms. Miller. We surely aren't going to encourage objectification of women."

Regina marches over and takes one of Violet's signs and holds it up.

Violet breaks into a grin and resumes her protest. "Do I give you impure thoughts?" she shouts to someone walking his dog along the school grounds.

"Oh, come on," Principal Miller complains loudly.

Officer Locksley sighs and saunters toward Regina and Violet

"Do I give you impure thoughts?" Violet yells in his direction.

He ignores her, unfazed.

When he gets close to Regina, really close, she can literally feel the heat radiating off his body, he stops and says in a low voice that Regina is sure only she can hear, "Now if you were wearing that outfit, the answer would be a definite yes."

Regina's head twists toward him. "What did you say?"

"You aren't helping things," he says louder.

"That's not what you said," Regina says, quieter. Because she wants to hear the other thing he said again. Wants to feel the shiver down her spine at the thought of him thinking those things—impure things—about her.

He doesn't repeat it. Doesn't acknowledge it. He holds his palm out toward her instead. "Hand me the sign."

Regina tightens her grip on it. "I'm helping her."

"Are you? It's my impression that you want this whole thing resolved with the least amount of damage to her record. Am I right?"

Oh, God. His smirk is incredible. Regina can't look directly at it.

"Keep talking," Regina says, but he's already said enough. Regina knows what she has to do. She just likes the way his voice sounds, the way it rumbles in his chest when he lowers it so that others can't hear what they're saying.

"Get her to class, and I'll make sure there aren't any consequences for obstructing traffic."

This isn't like him. Regina knows it's not. He's not the type to let charges go. He's about order. He's about the law. So why was he doing it? Regina was suspicious.

But she can't take my eyes off him. She's completely under his spell.

Regina hands him the sign.

He gives another hint of a real smile, this time it's all for Regina, and her knees practically buckle beneath the beauty of it.

If she looks at him a moment longer she feels like she might actually, literally faint.

Regina turns and grabs Violet's arm for support, pretending she meant to simply get her attention.

"Violet—" Regina starts.

"You're going to tell me to stop this, aren't you?" She pulls away from Regina. "Well, I won't. I won't stop fighting for women. I won't stop fighting against injustice."

Regina moves around to face her. "Of course I'm not going to tell you to stop fighting. I'd never tell you that. Haven't I always encouraged you to speak your mind whether it be through words or action?"

She narrows her eyes, unsure whether or not to trust Regina now. "Maybe."

"I'm encouraging the same thing now. Just, there are sometimes better ways to be heard. Look." Regina gestures to the few people standing around her. "This is a very small crowd. You'd have much better reach if you took the matter to the next school board meeting where you could actually effect change. Don't you think?"

She twists her lips as she considers.

"Those aren't even our uniforms," the cheerleader shouts randomly from the side of the driveway.

Violet throws her head back in frustration and groans. Then, suddenly, as if she hadn't been completely ready to march to Washington on behalf of the cause, she shrugs and says, "Okay. I should get to second hour anyway. American history. We're watching a documentary about suffragettes."

She removes the remains of the chains that Regina notices now are still on each of her arms and hands them to me. Then she strolls toward the school building.

"Where's she going?" Principal Miller asks Regina anxiously.

"To class!" Regina announces smugly.

"Not dressed like that! There're no cheerleading uniforms in school!" She marches after Violet, urging the rest of the administration to follow as well.

"She has a change of clothes," Regina tells no one in particular. "I hope." Man, being someone's mentor is a tough job. It might require more caffeine than one K-cup pod.

"Officer Locksley, I'm only sixteen," the cheerleader's friend calls over to him, "but that's the age of consent in Kansas."

"I'm frightened that you know that," Regina says rolling her eyes.

"Go to class before I fine you both for truancy," Officer Locksley says, but not before she hears him let out a soft chuckle at Regina's comment.

"What's truancy?" the two girls ask in unison.

"Oh my God," Regina groans, "you need to go to school. You might actually learn something."

They scurry off, and though Regina would like to take credit, it's probably more likely because the bell has just rung.

And now everyone's gone but Regina. And the cop.

The very hot cop.

It suddenly feels harder to get air in her lungs than it did just a second before.

"Nice job with her," the cop says, nodding his head in praise. "Maybe you can help keep her out of trouble in the future."

Regina bristles. "Just because she's passionate about things, doesn't mean she's going to get in trouble in the future." It's really his compliment that's bothering her. She's bothered by how it made her feel. How it made her feel good.

"Right," he says, and she swear he's thinking things about her that would make her die a thousand deaths if she were to find them out.

She frowns, feeling awkward. "Well. Anyway."

Regina knows she should thank him, but he speaks first. "Have dinner with me."

"What? Dinner? Why?" That wasn't at all the kind of thoughts she hoped he was thinking about her. Not at all the kind of thoughts she wants him to be thinking about her, yet her stomach flutters anyway, like it's a good thing. Stupid stomach.

"Because in the evening I get hungry, and I find that eating a meal tends to make that hunger go away." He's completely straight-faced, and it's so sexy she's not sure she can stand it.

Regina looks down, away from his fuck-hot jaw and his fuck-hot lips. "You don't need me for that."

"Eating alone is lonely."

But she can't escape that fuck-hot voice. Her skin is on fire even in the cool spring wind. "I'm sure what's-her-name from attendance would be glad to join you for dinner."

"I'm not asking her. I'm asking you."

Regina looks up at him, and her heart starts to pound. Even behind those glasses, she can sense that he can't take his gaze off her. Goose bumps skim down her arms at the thought.

Dinner. She eats dinner. She could eat dinner with him. What would be wrong with that?

If Regina could see his eyes, she was sure she would have said yes by now.

"Heya, Officer Locksley!" Apparently the attendance secretary didn't go inside after all. He turns toward the vampire-Regina swears, she hasn't seen the sun in a decade. "I left a sticky with my number on your police car. Call me sometime."

Officer Locksley makes a non-committal noise. But then adds, "Thank you again for the bolt cutters."

Vampire secretary simpers at him. "It was no trouble, really."

Regina don't listen closely to the rest of their exchange because without his attention on her, she can think again, and she suddenly remembers what would be wrong with dinner and why she absolutely does not want to go out with Officer-I've-already-stolen-your-panties-Locksley.

Because he's a man.

And men leave.

Especially this type of man—the type with the confident smile and the tight-fitting uniform. (Seriously, the way his ass fills out those pants…damn.)

There's always a woman waiting in the wings for a hot cop like him. A flock of them, even. He could have anyone he wants. He doesn't need to try to bang the librarian driving the Prius. They were oil and water. He's the type who has a reputation. She was the type who'd show up with a sign and protest it.

Without giving him a response or even a goodbye, Regina makes her escape. She bets she's already at her car before he even notices she's slipped away.

As she drives away her thoughts go back to their encounter. She didn't know why, but she felt like this day in time was something she would remember for her entire life.

* * *

 ** _(Now this is what I have added from the original one shot!)_**

 _Officer Locksley_

"Every year, I think I won't have to come up here and tell you this, but then every year, here I am."

The sound of the HR director's tired voice echoes through the large meeting room at city hall. There's a cough, the sound of someone behind Robin discreetly trying to eat something crunchy out of a plastic bag, the whir of a ceiling fan overhead.

The HR director sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping, and gestures to the PowerPoint slide behind him. The slide reads:

Don't have sex on duty.

"That's it," the director says, a touch mournfully. "That's all there is to it. Don't have sex in your police car. Don't have sex in your uniform. Don't pretend to do a business check at McDonalds's and then have sex in the bathroom. Just don't do it. Because then I will have to fire you, and it's so much paperwork for me, and then I will have to climb back up here next year and beg you not to do it again. Please don't make me."

There are a few awkward laughs, a few sly shoulder nudges. Everyone remembers last Christmas, when the Captain caught Will Scarlett doling out a little extra Christmas cheer in the backseat of his patrol car. To the Captain's college-aged daughter.

Or the year before that, when Killian and his wife wanted to act out some role play and Killian's mic button got stuck, which meant everyone on duty heard him say, "Now that's the long arm of the law!" right as he came.

Who would be dumb enough to do that shit? Robin thinks to himself. Aside from the fact that the backseats of most patrol cars are cramped vinyl shells that have been puked on, pissed on and worse—it's against the rules, and he doesn't break rules.

Rules are good. Rules are there for a reason. It's his job to protect those rules and make sure everyone else follows them. That satisfies something deep down inside of him—not like a hunger for power or anything—but it's the same feeling he gets when all the weights are in order at the gym or when his house is clean and his lawn is mowed. Clean and neat, everything in its place.

He thinks of that kid today, though, definitely out of order and creating massive snarls of traffic trying to get out of the parking lot during the morning drop off. There were three fender-benders, one verbal altercation between a dad and a vice principal, and Officer LaTasha Palmer had to issue a property damage citation because one impatient mom had driven up over the curb and crashed into the school fence.

It was pure chaos—unnecessary chaos—and then the most exquisite woman that he's ever seen marched right up to him in skintight leggings and flip-flops and started creating more chaos. Normally he wouldn't have welcomed yet another upset adult demanding answers and action while he tried to sort out the mess, but the thing was, he kind of felt for the kid. She reminded him of his sister—in fact, he couldn't be sure Belle hadn't chained herself to school property at one point—and it was almost a relief when Regina appeared and started defending her. Because he didn't want the teen to get into trouble…he just had to make sure the parking lot exit was cleared so cars would stop crashing into each other.

So, he was glad the teen had someone there for her. And it didn't hurt that Regina wore those tight, tight leggings, which showed off every curve of her sweet thighs and scrumptious ass. Even the t-shirt she wore had been accidentally sexy, the thin fabric revealing a cute pink bra when she stood directly under the spring sun…

His dick stirs in his pants thinking about it, just as it did this morning when he looked at her. God, he'd wanted to pull her hair out of that adorably sloppy knot and twine his fingers in it, wanted to bend her over the hood of his car and run his greedy hands all over her body. He wanted her in the kind of hungry, urgent way he hasn't wanted a woman in a long time.

He had to find her again.

She never gave him a real answer about dinner, after all.

The dispirited voice of the HR director brings him back to the present, and he listens as he describes more ways they can't have sex on duty. Although now Robin is wondering less who would do that and more if he would do it, given the right woman. Like, say, a brown-eyed spitfire with leggings and the kind of face they model Disney princesses after.

The HR director wraps up his speech and leaves the room with the defeated air of a man who knows he'll be back to give the same speech again next year. The chief takes the low stage at the front of the room, giving them all a quick smile as he adjusts the microphone.

"Thank you for that policy refresher," he says to the director's retreating back. "And even though I know it's not normally how we do things, I thought I'd take the opportunity to open the floor to any questions you might have for me. No chain of command, no formality—just ask and I'll answer."

A ripple of interest goes through the room of bored officers. Their new chief has been pretty invisible for the most part, hiding out in meetings or in his office, and so having the chance to talk to him directly is unexpected.

But not unwelcome…

Robin shoots a glance over at his sergeant, Theresa Gutierrez, who is already raising her eyebrow in a well, are you going to do it or am I? look.

Robin sticks his hand in the air.

The chief smiles and points at her, the two quick blinks before saying, "Officer?" telling Robin that he doesn't know his name.

"Hi, yeah," Robin starts, suddenly aware that all the eyes in the room are on him. Robin thinks of Regina this morning, all bravery and determination in her flip-flops and messy bun. Robin thinks she'd approve of him right now, and for some reason that sends a little glow through his chest. "I was the head of the body camera committee last year, and we submitted a recommendation for the department to purchase the cameras for every officer working the field as soon as possible. I was wondering where we were on that?"

There's a sudden tension in the air. Not only had Robin coupled the committee's recommendation with a detailed budget analysis and cost breakdown by manufacturer, but he'd also done a department-wide poll and found that over seventy percent of the field officers wanted body cameras. But even though Robin had done all the research legwork, even though most the cops here want the upgrade, the administration keeps stonewalling them.

The chief's smile has frozen into something that can only be described as irritated politeness. "I believe there was a memo sent out last month that addressed this very concern."

"With all due respect, sir, it didn't address anything. It just said that the department was still considering all their options. But we," Robin gestured around the room, "think that this issue is important enough that we need to have it resolved now."

There are nods and murmurs of agreement around him. The chief lets the forced smile slip a bit. "With all due respect back to you, Officer, this decision is a bit above your pay grade. And while I appreciate your passion for it, I ask that you appreciate the complicated budgetary nature of such a purchase, not to mention the statements made by many citizens concerned with privacy. It's not a decision to be made in haste."

"It's been over a year since the recommendation, sir. I don't think you have to worry about haste anymore." Robin shouldn't have said it, he knew the moment the words left his mouth. It's easily insubordination, something Robin could be written up for, and by the way the chief's eyes narrow, he wonders if he is really considering it.

"I'm sure what Officer Locksley means," Sergeant Gutierrez cuts in smoothly, "is that most of the other agencies in the metro area already have body cameras built into their budgets in the coming years. If we're not careful, our city could be the only one still using outdated policing standards."

"I just want to make sure we're serving and protecting our citizens to the best of our ability," Robin adds to his supervisor's remarks.

The chief smiles again, a mechanical smile. They've got him trapped and he knows it, because in a room full of street officers, the chief can't admit he cares more about preserving admin salary perks than spending money on citizen and officer safety.

"Duly noted," he says after a minute. "I'll make sure to check on the status of the cameras today and send out another department-wide memo."

"Thank you, sir," Robin says. It's not what he wanted, but it's not a total loss either. Like Regina and her teen friend, Robin would live on to fight another day.

"Son, you've got to cut that out."

Robin looks over from the couch, he's sprawled on to his grandfather's chair, where Richard Locksley or Pop as Robin calls him, is drinking his third—or maybe seventh—cup of coffee for the day and searching for the volume on the remote so he can turn up the sound on the HGTV show he's watching. Richard has two passions in his twilight years: shows about buying houses and bad coffee. The first means that he's always fussing around outside in the quest for maximum curb appeal, even though he has no plans to sell the place, and the second means that his house always smells like the inside of a diner.

"What do I have to cut out?" Robin asks with a sigh.

"That. That right there—all this sighing. I can't hear these idiots arguing about which tiny house to buy over all your mooning."

"I'm not…mooning, whatever that means."

Okay, well maybe he had have been mooning a little. Robin wasn't normally the type to flop around on the couch on his day off—not when there are baristas to flirt with and some pavement to pound on his daily run. But he's already pounded seven miles of pavement and hit the gym, and he still hasn't shaken off this funk. It's partly the meeting from yesterday—this body camera issue giving him the itchy feeling of work left unfinished, which he hates—but it's partly something else.

Someone else.

The someone else being the reason he didn't flirt with any baristas this morning or answers the texts he got last night from an old ex of his.

Regina Mills

Robin couldn't take his eyes off her, and now, a full twenty-four hours later, it's like she's still in front of him, blocking his vision of everything else.

Robin had to find her. Dinner, drinks, handcuffs—all of it.

Pop takes a sip of coffee and puts it next to his iPad mini, which is only used for mah jong and some game called Candy Crush. Then he folds his knobbled hands over his belly and levels a cut-the-bullshit stare at him. Robin calls it the Vietnam look. It's a look that says, I was in a fucking war…you think you can pull one over on me?

"Son," Pop says, still giving Robin the Vietnam look. "You've been sighing all morning. You sighed before the gym. You came back and sighed after the gym. Now you're even sighing at the tiny houses, which don't deserve any guff from you. Is it a woman? Did you meet a woman?"

"I meet lots of women, Pop."

"I'm not talking about the women you pick up going quail hunting."

"Quail hunting?"

Pop rolls his eyes. "Hunting for chicks! Finding a bird! I thought your generation was supposed to be smart!"

Robin blinks at him.

"My point is, you don't sigh over those women, ever. So, this woman must be special."

Special.

Robin thinks back to Regina's thick hair, the color of a raven's wing. Robin thinks back to her skin, smooth and clear, and then he thinks of the way she faced down the swarms of teachers and Robin to protect her friend. And he thinks of those leggings, so tight and so flimsy—flimsy enough he could rip them apart with his bare hands to get to that perfect ass underneath.

Yeah, Regina is something special all right.

"Robin, my boy, you're mooning again."

"Okay, okay," Robin admits. "There was a woman yesterday on a call. And she was beautiful and feisty and—" Robin searched for the right word. "Stunning"

Pop shakes his head at him. "Now, don't you go saving some damsel just because you think she's in distress. She probably doesn't need saving, especially from the likes of you."

The doorbell rings once, then four more times in rapid succession, as if someone is really excited about the opportunity to ring a doorbell. And Robin knows exactly who that somebody is.

Robin swing his legs off the couch and stand as he asks Pop, "From the likes of me? I'm a police officer. Saving damsels is in the job description."

"I don't mean as a police officer. I mean as a man who likes to go quail hunting."

Robin opens the front door as he mumbles, "I still don't get what quail hunting means."

Robin's brother-in-law, Robert, stands in front of him holding one very sleepy toddler and the hand of one very bouncy four-year-old, who is almost certainly the manic doorbell ringer.

"Ah, 'quail hunting,'" Robert says, dragging his sons over the threshold. "A slang term for dating, or more specifically, searching for women to date."

"See? You're the only one who doesn't know what it means, Robin," says Pop from the living room. Robin's oldest nephew, Kevin, runs right up to his chair and clambers on top of Pop's belly. He immediately grabs for Pop's iPad.

"Candy Crush," he demands seriously.

At the mention of the game, his other nephew, Joey, lifts up his head from his father's shoulder. He squirms down silently, his pinky firmly in his mouth and his stuffed lion in his fist, and he also makes his way over to Pop's chair. Soon the two boys are arranged happily with the iPad balanced on Pop's belly between them, and Pop is even happier snuggling with his great-grandsons and cradling their curly heads in his spotted and gnarled hands.

Robin turns back to Robert, holding his hand out for Joey's diaper bag. "Nice one with the quail hunting,"

He grins back at Robin.

Robert gives Pop a handshake and then gives Robin a quick inventory of the diaper bag as they walk back to the door. "Joey only wants grapes today, but if Belle asks, he had veggies and protein too. She's on a food pyramid thing lately."

"Got it. And if she catches me lying, I'm blaming it on you."

Robert shakes his head. "Grown man's afraid of his baby sister."

"Have you met her? Of course, I'm afraid of her."

After a pause, Robert admits with a smile, "I'm afraid of her too."

After his brother-in-law leaves, Robin stands for a minute in the doorway, thinking about his sister again. When Robert said her name, a little bubble of a thought had emerged…a bubble with dark eyes and leggings…

Regina said her teen was someone she worked with at the library—did that mean she worked at the library? Surely not—Belle has been working there for years, there's no way he wouldn't have noticed Regina before.

So maybe she's a tutor? Robin knew lots of local tutors met up with their students at the library. Or maybe a volunteer?

Belle would know, Robin decides. Belle knows every coworker, volunteer, and patron that enters her domain. And especially someone like Regina, all fired up and ready to fight with the police and the school and anyone else she has to. Robin smirks, remembering her waving that sign in the air. He wonders if she'll be that fired up in his bed—and there's no doubt in his mind that she will be in his bed tag.

Or hide the nightstick.

Robin's favorite game.

Robin grabs his wallet and phone, glance in the mirror at my jeans and Captain America T-shirt, and then, like the sexy badass he is, shoulders the diaper bag and drag the Red Flyer wagon out of the garage. Robin walks back inside to his nephews, prepared to bribe them with promises of grapes and as many picture books as they can carry.

"Who wants to walk down to see Mommy at work?"

"It happened again?" Megan half asks, half exclaims.

"Yep," Regina whispers. The children's section of the library is quiet tonight, but this is the kind of conversation that would be particularly bad if an overprotective parent overheard. "This time I caught the guy in the act."

"You mean, he was actually—?" She holds up her hand to make sure no patrons can see her and makes a motion as though she's jerking off.

Regina nods. It's the third time in a month she's caught someone using the library computers for VPU—Very Personal Use—and though Regina should be used to it by now, she still continues to be astonished every time.

"What did you say?" Belle's eyes are wide. So far this has been the only bit of excitement on an otherwise slow night. As the children's specialist, she doesn't generally have to deal with the VPUs anyway, which makes the tale extra enthralling. She did, however, once have a flasher—an old man in a trench coat, stocking cap, and white knee socks who loosened his belt in the middle of a story time.

"Trust me," Megan says every time she recounts the story, "Brown Bear didn't see much."

Though she's seen many VPUs in her day, tonight has been the first time that Regina has actually caught a man with his personal Item in hand. Regina was still a bit stunned, but thinks she did well in the moment. "I told him, 'Sir, these computers are for public use and the viewing of pornography is strictly prohibited. Please kindly log off and leave the library.' Then I handed him a box of Kleenex and walked away."

Belle laughs, clapping her hand over her mouth when she realizes she's been a tad too loud. "Lysol that computer down. Then spray it with bleach. And tell me which one it is so I can make sure to never use it myself."

"It doesn't matter if I tell you which one it is. They've all been used for that purpose at some point, I'm sure! Men are disgusting!"

Regina leans across her desk and props her chin up with her hand. She was still getting to know her, but she's already learned a few things about her. She's met her husband and two boys a couple of times, and she's heard her mention her only sibling is a brother. "You're surrounded by them. How do you manage with all that testosterone?"

She shrugs as she goes back to cutting out shapes from colored paper for an upcoming children's program. "I grew up with just my Pop and my brother. Guys are all I know." She cocks her head and looks at Regina. "Do you really hate men that much?"

Regina stands up, affronted. "I don't hate men at all! I don't hate kangaroos either, but I'd probably have better luck at getting one to stick around."

"That's a stupid analogy. Where the hell are you going to find a kangaroo around here? You just haven't found the right guy yet. The right guy will stick around. Look at Robert."

She's missing the point, which is that it would be just as hard to find a decent man as it would be to find a kangaroo. It's why she's stopped looking.

It's a hard point to explain without sounding like a quitter. Or asexual.

But she likes Belle, so she tries anyway. "You didn't know Robert was the right guy until you gave him a chance to be the wrong guy, did you?"

She pauses her cutting, and for a moment she worries she's going to tell her she knew it was love at first sight. After a beat, she says, "I guess not. No."

"Right," Regina says, as though she's just gotten a Bingo. "And I don't want to do that. I don't want to not know. I don't want the uncertainty part. I'm done giving chances."

She opens her mouth and Regina can sense a rebuttal coming, but she doesn't need to hear it. She's made up her mind on this. She jumps in before she gets the chance. "Look. I've had three serious boyfriends. Not as many as some, but enough to learn that relationships are like playing roulette—odds are, the ball isn't going to land on your number. You got lucky with Robert. But how many times did the ball land somewhere else before Robert landed on you?"

She doesn't bother to hide her smirk. "I don't know. Robert landed on me pretty quickly."

Regina runs two fingers over her forehead and sighs. "I didn't mean…"

"I know what you meant," she huffs. "That's how life works, Regina. You don't get anything good without risk."

"I prefer living without that heartache, thank you very much. I like the safety zone. Maybe the returns aren't as exciting, but I know what I'm getting."

Belle's jaw tightens into a frown. "Let me guess—you don't like going to Vegas either."

"Ew. No." Regina shudders.

She shakes her head, unable to solve the mystery that is Regina Mills. "Well, if you're happy in your career, happy in your home, and you don't want a man, I don't know what you're missing. Maybe you need a dog."

Her eyes light up, and she turns to follow her line of vision and sees Kevin, Belle's oldest son running toward them. Behind him, Joey, her youngest, toddles after his brother. He barely manages to cross the distance without tripping over his feet, his stuffed lion flapping at his side as he waves his arms for balance, and her chest fills and tightens with the overwhelming cuteness. Is this what they mean by ovaries exploding?

"Yeah, something like that," Regina replies, with no intention of getting a dog. But something. For sure.

Joey coos behind his binky as he nears his mom, and Regina's grinning ear-to-ear when her eyes casually drift to meet those of the man who is following behind the boys. She'd expected it to be Robert, and so she's surprised when it's not.

Then she even more surprised when she sees who it is instead.

Officer Panty-Thief Locksley.

Officer I'm-Sexy-in-Blue-Jeans-Too Locksley

Officer I'm-Not-Wearing-My-Sunglasses-and-Now-You-Must-Drown-in-My-Eyes Locksley. His blue, blue eyes. They're pools of cobalt, and Regina forgets to blink when she looks into them. Forget how to breathe. Forget how to look away.

Now this is what they mean by ovaries exploding. Regina's are exploding. They've exploded. Kaboom. His manly aura has sent signals to her baby-makers and caused instant combustion. That's how hot this man is. And he's not even in his uniform.

Imagine him not in anything at all…

Bad idea, bad idea. Her knees buckle, and she has to grip the counter. Regina wills him into his clothes again in her mind, but not before imagining the washboard abs he's barely hiding under that tight T-shirt.

Oh God. She's woozy. Too woozy to even question why he's here.

Thank god for Belle.

"Let me guess," she says, gesturing with her scissors toward the diaper bag that I now notice is slung over Officer Locksley's shoulder. "Robert forgot to pack something." However impossible, she seems completely unaffected by the cop's magic manliness and super-blue death pools.

Also, she's familiar with him. Which is a good thing since it seems he's the one who brought her kids.

Regina's not usually this slow. It's just. That body. That stubble. Those eyes.

Speaking of those eyes…they dart over in her direction, sending sparks shooting like fireworks throughout her body, then return to Belle. "No, everything's there. Kids wanted to pick out a book." He picks up Joey who goes easily into the cop's arms. "Didn't we, buddy?"

Regina's ovaries, those which are left, have just exploded.

Joey grins and makes an mmm sound behind his binky, kicking excitedly.

"Unca Robin pulled us in the wagon," Kevin says, tip-toeing so he can see over the edge of the reference desk. "He said we can fill it with all the books!"

"Only five each!" Belle says in a rush. "Which is plenty!"

"Aw, that's hardly any," Officer Locksley says, triggering another elated burst from Joey.

Kevin mimics the man. "That's hardly any."

Belle seems about to argue but then glances down at her little boy's anticipating face. "Yeah, well if any of them get lost, it's on you," she says threateningly to the cop.

And all Regina can think is how insane it is that a woman can talk to such a gorgeous man—let alone threaten him—when she can barely stand in his presence, especially now that he's cuddling and cooing at these kids like he's shooting one of those charity calendars where the hot cops model with adorable children and he's so freaking hot, and ah, fuck. There go her ovaries again.

Regina's thought about him several times in the day since she'd seen him. Not that she'd meant to think about him, but he'd been attractive, and sometimes attractive things can get stuck in the brain the same way a catchy tune can. At least that's what she's been telling herself.

Problem was, she hadn't been remembering him properly. Regina remembered him hot, but not this hot. She hadn't realized his pecs were this toned underneath his protective vest. She hadn't remembered his perfectly sculpted hair or the black ink that peeked out on his right forearm.

"How about we compromise? How high can you count, Kevin?" the gorgeous man asks.

"Ten!" Kevin says, immediately demonstrating his counting skills by rushing through the numbers at high speed.

"Great. Then pick out ten for you and ten for Joey. Got it?"

Kevin is already running off toward the picture books. The cop puts Joey on the ground, and her lips break automatically into another smile as she watches him wobble happily after his brother.

When Regina moves her attention away from the kids, she finds the cop's eyes waiting for her. Her heart skips a beat. Or ten. She's have Kevin count if he hadn't just run off.

"Officer Locksley," Regina says in greeting. Because she doesn't know what else to say. Because she has to say something. She can't just stand here, combusting under his gaze.

He scans the length of her, slowly, burning every inch of her skin before returning to her eyes. "Ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am!" Regina snaps, as much upset about the way he makes her belly tighten and her thighs clench as she is about the way he continues to address her. "I'm twenty-nine. I am not a ma'am yet."

"Though Regina believes that thirty is death," Belle snickers, "so you can probably call her ma'am after that."

Regina presses her lips together and pretends she's not scratching her eyes out in her head.

Suddenly her brows shoot up. "I didn't realize you two knew each other."

"We don't," Regina says quickly, eager for her to know that she most certainly does not know this very fine-looking man.

She studies her, then Officer Locksley. "Right." She drags the word out, and she's not sure what she's thinking, but whatever it is, it's not good.

"Ms. Mills was a witness at an incident yesterday," Officer Locksley explains, his eyes never moving from Regina's eyes.

"Ah, so you haven't been properly introduced." With scissors still in hand, she points first to Regina while looking at the cop. "This is Regina. She works upstairs with the grown-ups and the teens, and she's cool, so don't be a dick." Sternly, she adds, "You know what I mean."

Then she points to the cop and turns her attention to me. "Robin is my big brother. His nobleness comes off as stern and overprotective sometimes, but he's really a teddy bear."

He scowls. "I'm not. I'm a warrior."

"You wish." She rolls her eyes and returns to cutting out the star that has been dangling from her paper for the past several minutes.

Robin—even his name is sexy—glances toward his nephews, checking up on them, then returns his heated gaze to Regina.

And she's just standing here. And no one's saying anything. Now there's awkward silence.

At least she considers it awkward because, as far as she's concerned, any silence between strangers is awkward. Especially when the stranger is six feet of pure sex and it's oozing off of him like a contagion that she's afraid she's about to catch—if she's hasn't gotten it already— and when she does, there's every chance she'll jump on top of the counter behind her, spread her legs, and beg him to come on in.

So obviously she can't let the silence continue.

Regina puts on a smile that exudes more confidence than she feels and turns to her friend. "Belle, you never told me your brother was hot." Oh my God. She didn't just say that.

And judging from the smirk on Robin's face, she did.

So much for playing it cool.


	2. Chapter 2

_**(A/N-Special thanks to Bekki boo for beta reading this. And to those who read, review, follow, fav this story.)**_

* * *

Regina's face is heated with embarrassment. "A cop! I meant a cop."

Regina can't look directly at him, but she does catch him out of the corner of her eye, grinning like he won the lottery.

Jesus, his grin is like a superpower. She's instantly wet.

"I guess it hasn't come up in conversation," Belle says, as though she didn't notice Regina's blunder. She sets down her scissors and stares at her point blank. "And of course, he's hot. He's related to me."

Regina didn't think her blush could deepen, but apparently it can because now she feels it down to her toes.

And that's Regina's cue to leave.

"Well, look at that," Regina squints at the clock on her computer. "My break is over. I have to get back upstairs. Nice meeting you. Again. Officer Locksley. Robin." It's strange saying his name and yet she wants to say it over and over. She wants to scream it.

She wants him to give her a reason to scream it. She wants to scream it as she-

What is she thinking? What is she thinking? She meant all those things she said to Belle.

But, God, look at him…

He cranes his neck to check up on the boys who are hidden in between the stacks, and her uterus aches. He's so damn good with them. He's just so damn…good.

Regina sighs and, with his attention elsewhere, slip around the children's reference desk, and makes a quick escape toward the elevator.

She's inside the car and the doors are closing when a large hand reaches in and stops them. A large sexy hand that can belong to no one other than Robin Locksley. Two seconds later, he's in the car with her.

The elevator is small, and it feels like he takes up all the room. Regina pushes the button for the top floor and then steps as far to the side as she can. She swears he only spreads out wider. His body grazes hers and goose bumps break out all over her skin. She huffs in irritation. Where is he even going? Wasn't he watching the kids?

He doesn't offer an explanation, and she refuses to ask.

Fortunately, the ride is short, and Regina has work to do. As soon as the doors open, she rushes to the cart she'd loaded earlier and starts pushing it toward the fiction section. It's slow enough that she's not needed on the floor where Robin might feel obliged to try to talk and disarm him with his cobalt death rays. So yeah, she's planning on hiding in the stacks.

It's a good plan. Problem is, as soon as she starts pushing, Robin starts following.

Perhaps it's a coincidence. He could have been heading for fiction. Maybe that's why he came up here—to grab the latest murder book, or no. That's not what he'd read. He'd read epic fantasy, Le Guin or Rothfuss maybe. Or maybe something more in the George R.R. Martin or M.D. Ireman vein. He struck her as the kind of guy who liked his books smart and a little fun.

So, she stops and pretends to look at a book on the cart, giving Officer Locksley a chance to pass her by.

Except he stops too.

Goddammit.

Of course, he stops.

He probably isn't even a reader because a subscription to Playboy online does not count as reading.

With her jaw set, she takes a deep breath and forces a smile on her face. "Can I help you with something?" Regina has no idea why her voice sounds as high as it does. Or why her heart is beating as fast as it is. Or how his cheekbones can be as perfect as they are. Or how tight his jeans fit just right in his crotch.

"You can, actually," he says, his eyes twinkling.

Aw, Christ on a cupcake, he knows how to twinkle. Regina lets out a string of curse words in her head, including a bunch that she's made up on the spot that are specifically related to how amazingly Robin Locksley fills a pair of jeans.

She's hopeless. This is hopeless. "Is this library related?" Regina asks him. "Because if it isn't—"

"I can tag along while you shelve." Robin said.

"Fine," She says through gritted teeth. Regina shoves the cart harder than she needs to, hoping it will alleviate some of her irritation, but if it does, she doesn't notice. Robin and her are walking side by side now toward the fiction section, and all she's aware of is the wall of heat between them. It beckons her closer, makes her wonder what it would be like to be pressed up next to him. Makes her wonder what the scratch of his stubble would feel like against her cheek.

Regina pushes the cart up to the P's, picks up a handful of books, and starts looking for their places on the shelf. They're silent at first, and it's killing her, but after what happened downstairs, she's not saying a word until he does.

He leans back against the bookshelf and crosses his arms over his chest, which causes his biceps to flex, and until now, she had not been aware that arm porn was actually a thing, but apparently it is. In this position, she can see his tattoo better. The silhouette of a lion on some sort of shield. Maybe the family crest?

Regina pretends not to notice he's watching her too. It's not like she likes it or anything.

Okay, she likes it. A lot. Hot guy checking her out? How could she not like it?

"So, I'm vetted now," he says eventually.

"Vetted?" She reaches for another book, avoiding looking at him directly. "What do you mean?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him shrug. "I'm Belle's brother. It means you can go out on a date with me. I'm not some random stranger."

Oh God. The date he'd asked her on. She'd hoped he'd given up on that.

"Being Belle's brother doesn't automatically vet you. You can still be a giant douchebag and share DNA with a good person." Another handful of books and this time she bends down to search for their placement.

"But I'm not a giant douchebag." Is it her imagination, or is he suddenly closer?

Regina peers up at him. "How do you know for sure? It's hard to be objective when you're both the one doing the judging and the one being judged."

He crouches down beside her, and her heart practically leaps into her throat. "How about you go on a date with me, and you can tell me if I'm a giant douchebag?"

She means to let out a mocking laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a giggle. "I'd rather not."

He moves to meet her eyes. "Why would you rather not? You said I was hot if I recall."

"I said—" Regina stares at him, open mouthed, shocked that he'd bring that up. She's so humiliated. Again. "That was a slip of the tongue." She returns to shelving, refusing to look at him. Ever again. Ever, ever again.

Fine, she sneaks one more peek at him, but this is definitely the last one.

"So, you're saying you don't think I'm hot?"

Oh my God, he's so hot.

"Aren't you supposed to be watching your nephews?" Yes, she's changing the subject.

"Belle's taking her dinner break; it's been ten minutes. Tell me, Regina. Are you absolutely not attracted to me?"

She studies him for several seconds before her eyes flicker involuntarily to his lips. She licks her lips as she does so.

What the hell is she thinking?

She shoots up to her feet. "This feels like a trap."

Robin follows her up, caging her between the bookcase, the cart, and his body. His hard, hard body.

"It's totally a trap," he says, his voice low and husky. "I'm trying to trap you into dinner with me."

She swallows, but she can't get the lump out of her throat. He's close enough that she can breathe him in. He smells like musk and sporty body wash and, faintly, of baby bottle, which somehow makes him even sexier. Her eyes wander back to his lips, and she can't help wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by him. She bets he kisses hard. And deep. She bets his kisses bruise and burn.

His head tilts toward hers. "For the record, the feeling's mutual."

"What feel—" It takes her a second to remember he's referring to her accidentally calling him hot. And another second to realize he's now calling her hot. "Oh my God." She turns away, her skin so flushed she's sure it's warm to the touch.

Even with her back to him, she can feel him grinning. She's so glad she amuses him. Is that his interest in her? Comic relief?

She'll never know because she's never speaking to him or looking at him or thinking about him ever again.

But when she reaches for another pile of books, he says, "Hand me a stack. I'll help."

And so, she turns and hand him a stack as big as she can hold. He grips it easily in his large hand, and when the tips of her fingers brush his and her body starts to hum in response, she decides that maybe this is how it's going to be when she's around Officer Robin Locksley, and maybe she should just accept it.

Accepting it doesn't mean she's going on a date with him. But he can certainly help her shelve a few books.

They settle quickly into a routine, reaching around each other for a new stack, Robin placing the higher books while she shelves the lower ones, chatting while they work.

"How come I haven't seen you around here before?" he asks.

"I transferred a couple of months ago here."

"I see." He looks around like he's about to tell her a secret. "Must get boring at times."

"Not always. Sometimes it does feel like it's actually about reference or matching people with good books."

"You like that, don't you? Playing matchmaker." Robin said.

"I do," She says proudly. „Because not only doe I like it, but I'm also good at it. I'm good at listening to someone tell me which books they've enjoyed, which they haven't, what they think they're in the mood for and then finding just the right book for them to read now."

"Okay then," he says, his tone challenging. "Go ahead. Match me."

They're standing next to each other, barely a foot separates them, and somehow, she thinks he's not asking her to find him a book, which is good because she couldn't begin to think of a book to recommend right now.

"Okay," Regina says, anyway. Then nothing else. Her breath quickens as he searches her face, his eyes landing on her lips before skimming down to her breasts. She's sure he can see how they're peaked through the thin fabric of her blouse. He has to know it's because of him.

"Regina?" His voice is ragged, and fuck. It's so sexy, she can hardly stay standing. It's been so long since she's been attracted to a guy. She means, really attracted. To the point where she's sure that her vibrator can't compare with even what she just imagines about his fingers.

She meant what she'd said earlier—she's not interested in men or dates or anything involving emotions. But the stairwell's fairly quiet and Belle still has time on her break…

"There you are!" Violet pops out from around the bookshelf, and she jumps away from Robin as far and as fast as she can. "What have you been doing?"

"Nothing. It was nothing. We were nothing. Shelving." Regina smiles tightly, brushing back an imaginary hair behind her ear. "Hi, Violet. What's up?"

"Just looking for you." She looks at her suspiciously. Then eyes Robin. "Heya, Officer Locksley. Regina's not in trouble, is she? Regina, you should have texted! I would have been here for you! Paybacks and all!"

"Nope. Not in trouble," Regina says hurriedly. She's blushing, and she knows Robin is grinning his cocky grin, even though she refuses to look at him to be sure. "What do you need?" She asks again, desperate to get the attention off of them. Off of her.

"Cool. Well. I have a paper due tomorrow. I know. I procrastinated until the last minute, but that's a long story, and I don't think that you'd really consider it my fault if you heard all the details because I'm not the one who—"

"Violet," She interrupts. "Get to the point."

"Oh. Right. American History. I have to do a paper on a woman who has shaped American History and everyone else is already doing Susan B. Anthony and Betsy Ross and Hillary Clinton. I want to do someone cool and unheard of, but I don't know who that would be. But I knew you'd know."

"Um. Okay." Normally this would be an easy one. But her head is not in the game. She's still thinking about Robin and his lips. And his eyes. And his…everything.

"Elizabeth Cady Stanton," he says. "Do a report on her."

"Who's that?" Vioket asks.

"You don't know her?" He feigns shock. "She's your soul sister. She was an American suffragist, social activist, abolitionist."

Robin goes on to highlight Elizabeth Cady Stanton's contributions to society, but Regina's no longer listening. He's good with Violet. Like he was good with his nephews. Is that something a man's either born with or not? As much a part of his DNA as his thick hair and strong jaw?

Regina thinks about Robin's good genetics. She thinks about the constant ache in her heart. She also thinks about the newer ache between her legs, and an old idea starts to re-form and become something new.

"Now stop talking about it, and get started," Robin says, interrupting a Violet-length monologue. "Library closes in two hours, and you're going to need all that time. Better hustle."

"Aye aye, captain." She salutes, and miracle of miracles, she actually goes off to work without further pushing.

He's good. He's real good.

"Well?" Robin says when he turns back to face her, and she's sure it's because they were in the middle of something, but that was a bad idea. She has a better idea now, so she maintains a three-foot distance between them and avoids gazing directly into his eyes.

"I do admit that I might have misjudged you," Regina concedes, leaning against the bookshelf, her hands tucked behind her back.

He raises a brow. "Because I'm a guy, and I know who Elizabeth Cady Stanton is?"

"Because you're a guy who supports your local library." She can't help herself—she meets his eyes. His goddamn twinkling eyes.

He grins, slowly, and she knows that he knows he's got her.

He leans against the opposite shelf. "Dinner tomorrow. Six o'clock."

"Seven." He's got her, but he doesn't have her that easily. "I work before that."

"Tell me where to pick you up."

"Tell me where to meet you. I'll drive myself." No way is she going out with him without an escape plan.

He considers. "I haven't decided yet. I'll text you."

"I haven't given you my number." Regina reminds him.

"Then give me your number." Robin says, his words barely above a whisper.

There's no way for her to have the last word on this one and win. There's either she gives it or she doesn't, and if she doesn't, this is done.

And she doesn't want it to be done.

So, she gives him her number.

Because maybe there's something to what Belle said earlier after all—you don't get anything good without risk.

Well, she's decided there's something that she wants. Something she's willing to take a risk for after all.

And if she gets it, she has a feeling it's going to be real good.

When Robin settles into his patrol car the next morning, he decides that nothing can touch his good mood. Nope. Nothing, because tonight Officer Locksley has a date with the sexy librarian. And if he thought those leggings would give him carpal tunnel from all the stroking off they inspired, then he's going to have something much worse than carpal tunnel after seeing her in that pencil skirt and tight no-nonsense bun yesterday. How do teenage boys even handle her being their librarian? He'd be terrified to shine a black light in the men's restroom.

Note to self, see if Regina is willing to play Sexy Librarian after they play Find the Nightstick.

So, the normal rounds of criminals, liars, and people who yell at him for giving them tickets don't bring him down.

The dirt bag who tries to lie about slashing his ex-girlfriend's tires the night before doesn't bring him down.

The irate doctor who accuses him of discriminating against people who drive nice cars in order to boost ticket revenues doesn't bring him down.

Even the white lady who yells at her after he wrote her a ticket for causing an accident doesn't upset him.

"Failure to avoid collision?" she reads off the ticket. "How the fuck am I supposed to avoid a collision when the car in front of me stops without warning?"

"They were stopping for a red light. In general, we would consider the red light a warning that cars ahead of you will be stopping," Robin says, aware that he's being snarky, but keeping his voice bland and pleasant. It's easy to stay pleasant when he knows he'll be pressed against Regina later tonight. "I also have three independent eyewitnesses saying you were tailgating that car and visibly texting on your phone. If you'd been following at a safe distance, you wouldn't have hit them."

"You can't know I wouldn't have hit them," she hisses wildly.

"Actually," Robin says cheerfully, "I can know that. Given the incredibly short skid marks and given that the coefficient of friction for dry asphalt is generally between a .7 and .9, I'd say you would have only needed an extra six or seven feet between you to have avoided the accident. Less than a single car length."

She blinks at him.

He flips over her accident report form and start writing out the formula for her. "So, the mass of the vehicle is irrelevant here, and without a drag tire I don't know the exact coefficient of friction, but we'll be generous and say it's .7, and so if f equals force…"

She's now staring at him incredulously.

"It's physics?" He offers.

"Fuck physics," she snaps. "You'll be hearing a complaint from me, Officer Locksley. You've been nothing but unprofessional. And those eyewitnesses are bullshit—no one can prove I was texting!"

"That's why I didn't write you a ticket for texting, I wrote you a ticket for crashing into the back of another car."

She practically snarls, snatches her ticket out of his hand, and leaves. He finishes the physics formula by himself for fun, get the answer he knew that he would, and then finishes up his report.

Good mood undaunted, he spends the next hour running speed along one of their busiest roads, his phone wedged between his cheek and his ear as he holds the LIDAR gun steady and track cars as they drive by.

"Do you think she prefers it if a guy dresses up or if he's more casual?" He asks Belle. He called her to not-so-subtly investigate Regina before their date tonight; Robin is very, very invested in it going well. His dick is too.

"Let me guess," Belle says, "it'll be the Locksley trio? Dinner, drinks—"

"—handcuffs," Robin finishes for her. "And don't knock the Locksley trio. It's very popular in certain circles."

"You mean the circles of women aged twenty-three to twenty-seven who live within walking distance of a bar?"

"Oh, come on."

"Face it, Robin, you have a type."

"Beautiful women?"

They're miles apart, but he can practically hear her eyes roll. "Shallow women. Badge bunnies. The kind that get off on playing 'License and Insurance' and then afterwards are more than happy to hop on to the next officer. Regina's not like that, Robin. She's not impressed by your badge or those dumb sunglasses—"

"Hey!" He protests. "My sunglasses are not dumb!"

"—and she's definitely not shallow. She's smart. And passionate. And determined. And she's sworn off men, so I don't know how you convinced her or hexed her into agreeing to a date with you, but it's probably not because you've dazzled the panties off of her."

He thinks about that a minute, his good mood threatening to deflate the tiniest amount. Not because Belle told him Regina had sworn off men, since he's pretty sure once he gets her to himself she'll decide to unswear off men…for at least two hours. Four if she has a hot tub.

No, his good mood is wavering because his own sister is clearly wary of him dating her friend. "Belle, you know that I'm not like a total asshole right? I'm not planning on fucking it and trucking it. I'll be a gentleman."

"Hmm."

"Don't hmm at me," He says indignantly. "Maybe I didn't dazzle the panties off her, but she must have seen something in me she likes. Even if it's just the promise of a fun night."

"Don't you ever get tired of being just a fun night? Being just Officer Good Times?"

The answer is so obvious that for a moment he thinks that he misheard the question. "No, I don't, baby sis. No, I don't."

Again, he can hear her eyes roll. "I don't believe you, dude."

He makes a scoffing noise as he adjusts the phone and aim his LIDAR at a Lexus barreling down the far lane. "You don't have to believe me. But I will tell you, I definitely wouldn't mind if I had more than one fun night with Regina. A few would be ideal. And do you think she'd wear those leggings if I asked her? I can't stop thinking about what it would be like to tear them apart with my hands and—"

"Oh my God. I'm hanging up." Belle threatens.

"Fine. I have to pull over this car anyway. If the date goes badly, I'm blaming it on your poor intel."

Belle makes her own scoffing noise and then hangs up, and he drops the phone in the seat next to him and reach for his lights and sirens. But as he does, as he pulls over the SUV and have yet another doctor accuse him of profiling expensive-looking cars, he wonders about what Belle said.

Is he sick of being Officer Good Times?

He means, of course not.

Right?

But for the first time, he's not sure if he believes himself either.

Tonight should be interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

**_(A/N-Special thanks to Bekki boo for beta reading this. And to those who read, review, follow, fav this story.)_**

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Robin is at the steakhouse fifteen minutes early, which is _on time_ in Robin Locksley's book. He's never been late for work or a date a single time in his life; in fact, he's always been early, which is a point of pride for Robin. And Regina walks in at seven on the dot, something that endears him to her immensely, although the moment he registers that he, Robin Locksley, is charmed, his mind goes blank.

Just blank.

There is nothing but her.

She walks in on heels that make her legs a mile long, her long hair down in a tumult of soft waves. The maître d' helps her take off her checkered wool coat, and then Robin.

Is.

Speechless.

His heart hammers up in his throat as the blood pools deep in his groin. She's wearing a bright red dress—so fucking short that he'd be able to finger her easily if they were in a booth, which they tragically aren't. The red sets off the warm undertones of her bronze skin, highlights the deep brown of her eyes. The lines of it hug the delectable curves of her tits, which are just small enough that she can get away without wearing a bra.

His cock thickens as she begins walking toward him, and he can verify that she is definitely _not_ wearing a bra. Oh God, what if she's not wearing panties either?

Robin bites back a groan and pushes back his chair to greet her as she comes to their table, tugging the collar of his shirt in one smooth move as he unfolds himself to help disguise the effect her presence has on him.

As he steps forward to greet her, he notices the color high in her cheeks and the way her teeth dig into the soft coral of her bottom lip.

She looks nervous.

That gives Robin pause. He doesn't mind a woman meeting him cold or shy or overly eager, he doesn't even mind a case of the first date jitters—since first dates are pretty much all he goes on, he sees a lot of those.

But nervous—truly nervous—that bothers him a little. Does he make her feel unsafe? Is it his size? His job?

In a split second, he changes gears. He can be patient when it comes to Regina and he finds that the idea of wooing his nervous little librarian on date after date doesn't sound tiresome at all...it sounds delightful, actually. A challenge. A test to see if he's worthy enough to remove all traces of trepidation from her face and fill her expression with eagerness and surrender instead.

And get more time with this fierce, sweet bookworm all to himself.

He leans in to kiss her cheek, careful to angle their bodies so that he doesn't press against her with six feet, two hundred pounds of hungry cop. Instead, he anchors her with a firm hand at her elbow, pleased to feel the goose bumps that spread underneath his touch. And then he brushes his lips against her cheek, making sure she can feel them, making sure she gets just the tiniest brush of his scruff as he accidentally-on-purpose slides his jaw against hers as he pulls away.

She shivers.

He looks down into her eyes as he straightens back up, and he's suddenly aware that he's supporting a lot of weight in his hand, as if her knees are weak from his kiss.

 _Well done, Officer Locksley!_

Her eyes are wide, the pupils so blown and her irises so dark that her eyes are just huge liquid wells of want, and he feels a familiar tug in his groin knowing that he put that look there.

"I forget how big you are," she murmurs, her head tilted up to look into his face.

Robin gives her his biggest grin and opens his mouth, but she cuts him off before he can say it, shaking her head. "I know, I know. I walked right into that one."

But the ghost of a smile flits across her lips as he helps her into her seat and pushs in her chair.

When he sits across from her and they start looking at their menus, Robin notices the smile has vanished and the nervous look is back, along with a determined set to her shoulders. The combination of uneasiness and backbone intrigues and worries him at the same time.

"I don't know what Belle told you," Robin says, "but I don't bite."

She looks up from the menu, her teeth back to digging into the plump flesh of her bottom lip.

"Well," he amends, staring at her mouth, "sometimes I do bite. But only when I really, really want to."

The color high in her cheeks intensifies, and she angles her menu to hide her face from him. "You're one cocky cop, I'll give you that much."

He reaches over and plucks the menu out of her hands so he can see her face. The blush still darkens her cheeks and—oh fuck _me_ —her nipples have drawn into tight little furls underneath her dress. There's a sharp pull of heat deep in his groin, his cock stirring to life as he thinks about what the ripe tips of her breasts would feel like on his tongue, how much they'd harden if he sucked them. Nibbled on them.

Regina clearly has something else on her mind though. "I was looking at that!"

Robin taps both menus on the table until they are lined up evenly and then put them on the edge of the table. "You're not a vegetarian, right?"

She looks confused. "Right."

"Are you from the New York area originally? Raised eating New York food?"

"Yes."

"Then you're set. This is a steakhouse, Regina. Order a steak."

She narrows her eyes at him. "You're trying to boss me around."

"You were trying to hide from me."

She sputters. "I don't _hide_. I'm not a hider. I'm very confident and outspoken, and I'm never shy—"

Her cheeks keep reddening as she talks, her fingers twisting in the tablecloth, and he leans back in his chair and studies her.

"—and just...you flustered me, is all, and I wanted some space to think without you being so...so...you know." She gestures helplessly at him.

Uh. What does that mean?

"I'm so...what?" Robin asks cautiously. He's back to being worried that she feels unsafe around him.

"Well, I can't _say_ it," she whispers furiously.

Robin keeps his posture casual and his voice calm, speaking in his easiest, most non-threatening voice. "Regina, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or unsafe with me. I understand that it's not enough for you to know my sister or know that I'm a police officer, so I'm going to give you a promise and I hope that my words are enough. This is just dinner. If you don't like me or it, or anything, you can walk out that door and I promise I won't follow you or try to contact you again. If you do like it—and me, which I hope you will—then it can still be just dinner, and we can try it again another time. But I won't pressure you, or try to wheedle you into something you don't want to do. I want you to have a safe and fun evening, however that looks for you."

She stares at him, chewing on her lip. "And what do _you_ want to have, Robin?"

What does he want to have? He wants to have this librarian with her legs around his waist while he drives deep into her; he wants to bury his face in her neck as he fills a condom; he wants to taste her cunt and leave stubble-burn on the insides of her thighs.

But he doesn't know if telling her that will make her less skittish. In fact, probably not. Especially because she's now staring hard at him, as if this is some kind of test.

"I can't promise commitment," Robin finally says, a little reluctantly. He never has to have this talk with the badge bunnies, and he's a little out of practice. "If that's why you're asking me. But I can promise that I'll be a perfect gentleman until you ask me not to be."

"And then what will you be?" she asks in a low voice.

Robin leans forward, letting his eyes burn and his voice edge into a growl. "Greedy."

Her breath catches. There's a moment when the noise around them seems to fade away, when the gentle lights of the restaurant covers them in a soft glow, and she seems to bloom open. Her eyelashes flutter and her body curves toward him.

"I think I'd like to see you greedy," she says, her tongue running along her bottom lip.

He feels her words everywhere: his bones, his skin, his throbbing erection.

"Your wish is my command, kitten." Robin leans forward over the table, his eyes hot on her sweet face. "Are you wearing a bra tonight?"

She licks her lips again, her breathing now quick and shallow. "No," she admits in a whisper. "The dress has a low back, and I…" She trails off, looking at him with something between helplessness and defiance. It makes his cock harder than it already is.

"Panties?"

Robin can see the pulse hammering in her neck now. She gives him a quick jerk of her head from side to side.

 _No panties_.

He's fully hard now, imagining her soft cunt exposed to the air so close to him, imagining it growing wet and needy as they sit here.

"Would you like to show me?" Robin dares.

There's a sharp intake of breath from her, her lips wet and parted, her large eyes blinking fast. "Show...you…?" she repeats slowly, as if she isn't sure she heard him correctly.

"Yes, Regina. Would you like to show me what your cunt looks like?"

The flush is now creeping up her neck, and she takes a small drink of water, as if to buy herself time. But when her eyes meet his again, he can tell her hesitation isn't because she doesn't want to show him.

It's because she does.

"If I... _wanted_ _to._..how would I show you?" she asks, the faintest quiver in her lower lip.

God, he still can't fucking breathe. She's so _much_ right now, so quivery and so big-eyed and so flushed. Her nipples are still so hard—what must be achingly hard—through her dress, and she keeps smoothing this one curl over and over again around her finger. All he wants to do is dive under this table and press his face between her legs, tongue her until she can't remember the difference between a filet mignon and a New York Strip, between rare and well-done.

"Well," Robin starts, once he can remember how to speak again, "you'd spread your legs under the table. I'd pretend to drop something. And then I'd duck under the tablecloth and see if you're telling me the truth about wearing panties."

Something about the word _truth_ seems to trigger a surge of rebellion in her.

"I'm telling the truth," she says, with an indignant toss of that thick, silky hair. "See for yourself."

And then she spreads her legs under the table.

"So, my little librarian is brave," Robin murmurs. And then he hooks his ankle around her chair underneath the table and easily yank her closer to him. "And bold."

She gasps as the chair moves underneath her, and he doesn't give her a chance to catch her breath before he knocks both menus off the table. And then he bends down to retrieve them, his body half under the table, his hand making an imitation of searching for the lost menus. All while he ducks under the tablecloth and sees for himself how she's prepared herself for their date.

It's dark under the table, too dark for what he wants, and so he moves off his chair to one knee at the side of the table. The restaurant is dim and their table is conveniently screened by enough plants and low walls that he's not worried about being seen. As he grabs for the menus with one hand, his other finds her ankle.

She startles, glancing down at me with fearful delight. "Robin?"

"I couldn't see under there," Robin says, his hand sweeping up the firm curve of her calf to the bend of her knee. "I needed to feel."

Her thigh trembles under his hand...and then she spreads her legs even wider. "Good girl," he whispers. "Let me feel you."

She holds her legs open for him as his whole hand slides under the hem of her dress, and then his fingertips brush against something impossibly silky and soft and— _oh fuck me_ —groomed completely bare.

The bare skin has made her extra sensitive, he thinks, because even the light ghosting of his fingers over her mound sends shivers through her. "So, you weren't lying," he murmurs. "You came here with a naked vagina."

Her voice is tight and breathless when she answers. "I told you I was telling the truth."

"Did you do it for me, Regina?" His fingers brush lower, and there between her lips is the plump button of her clit.

She sucks in air as he gives it a firm circle with his thumb. "I don't know," she confesses. Her voice is embarrassed, but her hips are currently rocking against his hand trying to get more pressure against her clit as he rubs her.

Robin could do this literally all night, but he knows they'll start to draw attention if he doesn't stand up soon. He allows himself one more caress, this time dipping a finger even lower into her folds. "Fuck, Regina," he curses, his self-control evaporating the moment he finds how wet she is. "You're so fucking wet."

"Mmm," she says. There's a flush creeping up her neck now, goose bumps everywhere, non-stop shivers. She looks like she has a fever, and the sight of her so physically undone just by this simple touch has him ready to push down his jeans and mount her right here at the table.

Robin doesn't do that, but he does peer up into her face and ask, "Can I put my fingers inside you? I want to feel. Just for a minute. Please."

Her eyes are half hooded as she nods and licks her lips. "Yes. You can."

Robin does. He slides one finger inside of her, easily finding a spot that makes her arch her back, and then he slowly adds a second finger, watching her face carefully as he does it. Her eyes are completely closed now and her chest is rising and falling so fast that the fabric is pulling against her tits. God, he just wants to shove this table out of the way, yank her ass to the edge of the seat and fuck her while he's kneeling between her legs.

With a small groan, he slides his fingers out of her tight, wet box and goes back to his seat, relieved that nobody seems to have noticed his little exploratory session, and also disappointed that the explorations are over.

Regina's eyes are open again when he gets there, but just barely. "Holy shit," she mumbles to herself. "Holy shit."

Robin grins at her and then starts licking his fingers, like a contented cat. She tastes good, sweet and primal, so good that he knows he needs to taste her again. Soon. All of her.

Her eyes widen as she watches him lick her taste off his fingers. "I can't believe we just did that. I can't believe I _let_ you."

Robin's grin gets bigger. "And we haven't even ordered our food yet."

She shakes her head. "We haven't even _kissed_ yet," she says, with some wonder in her voice.

" _Yet_?" Robin teases. "So, does that mean we will kiss?"

That draws a smile to her face, along with a fresh flush. "I didn't mean it like that," she protests. "I meant—" She goes to cross her legs and then she gives him another one of those soft inhales.

"Are you pressing your thighs together right now?" He asks in a husky voice.

"I—yes."

"Can you squeeze your clit like that? Can you feel how wet you are?"

"Yes," she whispers. "How are you doing this to me?"

Robin holds up both his hands. "I'm not doing anything right now, if you haven't noticed. You're doing it to yourself."

She looks down at her lap, taking a deliberately deep breath.

"I think...I think I'm doing this wrong," she says worriedly.

He doesn't like that, because from his vantage, everything is going utterly and completely right. "Doing what wrong?"

She gestures between the two of them, still looking down at her lap. "This."

He's confused. "The date?"

She closes her eyes for a moment, and then opens them, pinning their dark depths onto me. "Kind of," she says slowly. "But I meant for this to go differently. More...um...businesslike. More transactional."

Now he's really confused. _Transactional?_ Like they would just eat food, have sex and then leave like strangers? He's had plenty of transactional hookups in his time—he means, he's basically taken out stock in Durex at this point—but he didn't think that was what Regina wanted from their date. He assumed she'd want fun—easy and intimate, yes, but fun all the same.

Thankfully the waiter shows up then, and he can gather his thoughts. After they order—steak and beer for Robin, steak and wine for Regina—he gives her his full attention.

"I don't mind being a transaction, Regina, as long as we're both having fun at the same time. But I'm curious...does this have anything to do with you swearing off men?"

Regina sighs. "So, Belle told you that, huh?"

"She did. And I know it's not my business, but if there's a story there, I want to make sure I don't do anything to repeat parts of that story. I don't want to scare you or hurt you or trigger you."

To Robin's surprise, that seems to utterly disarm her, even though all he did was pledge not to be a dick. "That's really thoughtful of you," she says softly. Then after a minute, she adds, "There's not a story like the way you're thinking. I just have had my heart broken enough to know that I can't count on a man to be trustworthy and faithful. So, I stopped trying."

That pulls on something in his chest, something that he didn't even know was there until just now. It makes him want to protect her, makes him want to find any man who broke her heart and drive him fist into his nose.

He shakes off the feeling. It's not his to have in the first place, and in the second place, it should be no concern of his that she's stopped trying to have relationships. He doesn't do relationships either.

But still. There's something so forlorn about the way she looks right now, and he wants to help. Somehow.

His mind flashes to Sergeant Gutierrez and her wife. "You don't trust easily anymore."

"No, I don't." Regina admitted.

"I can't say as I blame you, these days it is difficult to trust the right person." Robin said.

"And you think you are the right person?" Regina asked.

"Maybe. One way to find out." Robin said with a wink.

"I told you, I have sworn off dating." Regina reminded him.

"Well, that's going to lead to some awfully…long…frustrated….nights….alone." Robin said.

"I am not frustrated! I'll have you know that just last night-" Regina stopped. She couldn't believe what she had almost admitted to him.

Robin picked up on exactly what she had been about to say. "So, the BOB did it for you?" Robin asked.

"BOB?" Regina asked.

"Battery Operated Boyfriend." Robin said.

Regina giggles, a real little laugh with a real little smile and real little twinkles in her dark brown eyes. The waiter comes by with their drinks and a basket of rolls, which he immediately starts destroying. It's while he's buttering a roll that Regina switches gears from giggles to Serious Business.

"Robin, I wanted to talk to you tonight, and I know we got a little off topic earlier…"

Robin takes a bite of roll, raising his eyebrows. "Is 'off topic' what we're calling it when I stroke your folds in public?"

She ignores him, forging ahead with what she wants to say, that nervous but determined look back. It makes him nervous enough himself that he stops eating his roll.

"I'm done with relationships," she says, meeting his gaze with an expression that brooks no argument. Not that he _would_ argue, even though every time she says she doesn't want a relationship, it twists somewhere in his chest.

He shakes off the twisting feeling. "You're preaching to the choir, sweetheart."

"I know," she says with a nod. "That's why we're here tonight. See, wouldn't you agree that just because you don't imagine yourself being married, that it doesn't mean you don't have plans for your life? We're still allowed to want things, right?"

He's starting to feel like he has no idea where this is going. "Yes?" Robin agrees tentatively.

She nods again. "I don't need a man or a relationship, but I still need a future. I still want a future. And I know exactly what it is I want for that future."

He takes a swig of his beer and settles back into his chair. "Okay, I'll bite. What is it that you want for your future, Regina?"

"I want a baby," she answers calmly. "And I want you to be the one to give a baby to me."


	4. Chapter 4

_**(A/N-Special thanks to Bekki boo for beta reading this. And to those who read, review, follow, fav this story.)**_

* * *

Robin nearly chokes on his beer.

"Excuse me, a _what_?"

Regina sees sweat gathering on his forehead. It's the first time that she's seen him be anything but calm, cool, and collected, which probably says a lot about how he's taking her announcement.

To be fair, she did spring this on him suddenly, though she didn't come up with the idea on a whim. She's been looking into artificial insemination and even adoption for several months now. Actually, for more like a year—since her last birthday when she turned twenty-eight and realized how close that was to twenty-nine which is practically thirty and how the hell could she be not even thirty and have her life be complete? Because it didn't feel complete.

It doesn't feel complete.

But what else was there that she wanted to accomplish? She had the degree that she wanted. She loved her job. She owned her own condo. She didn't want to get married. As Belle put it, what was there left to want?

A child. That's what.

Regina's always wanted a child. It was the one thing that she always imagined for her future. Even after she decided that she was done with men, she still wanted a kid. She wants one more now, actually. Maybe it's because she's lonely and thinks a child will fill some emotional hole. Maybe it's because she has a lot of ideas and thoughts she'd like to pass on. Maybe it's because she wants someone to love, someone that she knows is going to love her back. Someone she knows isn't going to run away when things get hard.

Maybe that makes her selfish.

But are those really such bad reasons to want to procreate?

She'll be a good mother.

She'll be attentive.

She'll be adoring and protective but not _too_ protective.

She'll be _there_. Isn't that what matters most?

She knows that she can parent alone, that doesn't worry her, but she's seen the way Robert keeps Belle running around. She wants to be young enough to keep up with a toddler. Young enough to still remember puberty when her child hits that phase.

So, it seemed if she was going to have a baby, she should have one before the angel of death arrived in the form of her thirtieth birthday. She did her research. She'd been considering her options. It just hadn't occurred to her to go about it the old-fashioned way. There haven't been any men in her life to choose from, really. No one that she wanted to procreate with and definitely no one that she wanted to sleep with.

Then Robin came along.

This man…

Not only does she want to rub every part of her body against his exquisite genetic makeup, but also it would be a crime if he didn't pass that shit on. She can already picture his eyes on a miniature face with her features and his perfect smile.

 _Unf._

Thinking about it makes her womb ache.

So, she's absolutely serious when she repeats her request. "Your baby. I want your baby, Robin."

He swallows. "That's." He nods. "No." He shakes his head. "I." He fidgets in his chair, looking around the restaurant. "Waiter!" he calls to the server walking by who is most definitely not our waiter.

"Can I get you something, sir?"

"I'm going to need another drink." Robin holds up his beer. "Another two drinks."

"I'll tell your server," the waiter says and slips away.

She opens her mouth but Robin says, "I'm going to need a minute." Regina starts to speak anyway, and he puts a finger up to silence her.

She sighs. She knew that she was going about this wrong. She should have blown him first. Or she shouldn't have approached this from the sex angle at all. Should never have let him think it was a date. Should definitely not have let him touch her like she did.

God, though. She can still feel his fingers. Feel how they brushed across her cunt. Feel how they stroked inside of her.

Regina shivers at the memory.

He was right—she didn't just come here tonight without panties because she didn't want panty lines. The truth is she'd been prepared to use any means necessary to get what she wanted, including the old razzle dazzle. Problem was he razzled her first.

She should have been straightforward from the beginning. Hopefully this isn't too botched to salvage.

She glances at Robin who is studying her, eyes squinted. He hasn't indicated that he's ready for her to speak, but fuck that. She has things to say first.

Leaning forward, she rests her elbows on the table. "Look. I'm not a crazy cop stalker, if that's what you're thinking. Or someone who's trying to trap you into a marriage or a relationship or even child support."

His expression doesn't change. "You have no idea what I'm thinking."

"Then what _are_ you thinking?"

The twinkle is back in his eyes, which is a relief. "That you're a crazy cop stalker who's trying to trap me into a marriage or a relationship or child support."

Regina stifles a laugh. "I'm not. I promise. I don't want anything from you. Other than the baby, I mean." _And really hot sex. Repeated hot sex._

"You don't want anything from me," he repeats, somewhat skeptical.

Regina clarifies. "I want a baby. But no marriage. No relationship. No child support. No parental claim at all."

He finishes the last of his beer and leans back in his chair. "I still don't understand."

He's a smart guy. So either he's playing dumb on purpose or he's caught up on some part of the details.

Regina decides to make it as simple as possible. Speak the language he speaks best. "It's easy, Robin. You want to have sex with me." She feels sensual and strong with her bold statement.

But suddenly she's afraid she's jumped to conclusions and her confidence falters. "You do want to have sex with me, don't you?"

It's his turn to look at her as though she's playing crazy. "Yes, Regina," he says with wide emphatic eyes. "Yes." He pauses only a second before adding, "Do I need to make myself clearer? Because I can, but it wouldn't be appropriate in a public venue."

Regina bites her lip, pressing her thighs closer together to ease the newest wave of agony. "I think we've already pushed the limits of public decency. But you're the cop. You'd know better than I would."

His lip curls up on one side, and she know he's considering. Damn, what she'd give to have a peek at the naughty imaginings going on inside his mind, because she knows they're naughty from the gleam in his eye. Very naughty.

"Robin…" Regina warns.

"You're right, you're right. Already pushed the limits. Go on." But the gleam in his eye remains, and she's giddy knowing that she's his prey, and he's a predator just biding his time.

"Okay," Regina says, her voice barely steady. "So, when you have sex, there are these microscopic things called sperm that come out of a man's body when he ejaculates."

"Regina, I know about sperm. But go on ahead and tell me about ejaculation. I'd like to hear what you have to say about that."

His gaze never leaves hers and Regina flushes picturing his cum in unproductive places—places that won't make a baby—on her belly, on her breasts, spilling down her throat.

 _No, inside her._ That's where she needs it most.

Regina licks her lips. "I'm saying you want to put it in me. I'm just asking to keep it afterward."

His grin is slow but magnificent. "I do want to put it in you. We're on the same page there."

Her breath hitches. She takes a sip of her wine, trying to hide behind her glass, and nearly choke, which only makes him grin wider. He sees everything. There's nothing she can do to escape his eyes, and the thing is, she doesn't really want to.

Which is good. It's good to be attracted to the person you're planning to jump into bed with. That doesn't mean anything's changed about her future. There are still no men in the picture in the long run. This is just a brief pit stop.

Robin plays with his empty bottle, tipping it back and forth between his fingers. "You really want to raise a baby by yourself?"

Regina shrugs like it doesn't prickle her that he's asked. Does he think she can't do it? "Women do it all the time," she says. "What do you care?"

So maybe lots of people do this parenting thing in twos, but she's never known her father, and as far as Regina's concerned, it hasn't hurt her in the least. Her mother is a strong woman. She might have had it tough, but she didn't complain. If she could do it, Regina could do it.

"Good point. What do I care?" He rubs his palms on his thighs, his expression unreadable. After a beat, he shakes his head. "I'm crazy for even considering this."

"But _why_ is it crazy?" Regina asks, eager to push his consideration in the right direction. Regina runs through rational reasons he might be against her plan. "You don't have an STD or something, do you?"

"God, no!" He shudders as he scans the restaurant, as if he's afraid someone might have heard her. "Would you keep it down?"

"Something else that would make it irresponsible for you to procreate?"

"Shhh." He pats the air with both hands in a quieting motion. "No one else needs to hear us talking procreation," he whispers. "Babies are actually not a very sexy concept."

Uh, tell that to her exploded ovaries.

Regina doesn't have to respond, though, because the waiter comes then with their dinner and Robin's next beer, promising to bring him another when he finishes the first.

"You can cancel that," he says, side-eyeing Regina. "This one will be enough."

Regina chuckles, placing her napkin on her lap before cutting into her steak as the server has asked to test the center.

"Perfectly pink and tender," Robin comments, looking at her plate. He makes even steak sound like porn, and she knows her cheeks are equally pink when she says, "It looks good. Thank you."

They eat for a few minutes in silence, the air between them just as charged as ever. But now it's also thick and tense while she starts to consider what she'll do if he tells her no. Will she still sleep with him without the excuse? What excuse does she have not to?

He's cleared half his plate when he wipes his mouth with his napkin. "You might not get pregnant right away. It could take a few months."

He's thinking the same things she is right now, she realizes. Thinking less about the product and more about the production.

Thinking about a lot of production.

Regina clears her throat. "I know." She hasn't been on birth control so she doesn't have to worry about getting that out of her system. Still, statistics say that only twenty percent of women get pregnant in the first month. "And we should probably, um, _do it_ several times over the course of the week that I ovulate each cycle for the best chance."

He smirks when she says "do it" but he doesn't push her on her choice of terms. "I mean, it's not likely it will take long. I'm sure I have super sperm."

Regina laughs and plays along. "I'm sure you do. How could you not?"

His smile fades as he grows serious. "But, do you think you can handle that? It seems like quite a commitment for someone who's sworn off men."

"I've sworn off men because I don't want emotional entanglements, not because I don't like sex. I figured you wouldn't have a problem with an arrangement that left out feelings." The words are out before she really thinks about them. "Ouch." Regina cringes. "That sounded less shitty in my head. Sorry."

"I'm not at all offended." He heads right to the part of what she said that interested him. "So, you like sex then."

She bites back another laugh and shrugs, not wanting to give too much of herself away. "It's not exactly terrible."

"You _do_ like sex. My little librarian's a sex kitten. Admit it. You're naughty."

She can't admit that she likes sex because she's not really sure if she does. Regina hasn't had a lot of good sex to know. She does, however, like orgasms. And she likes fantasizing about good sex while she gives herself good orgasms. If sex with Robin is even half as good as he makes it seem like it might be...

"I'm not admitting anything," Regina says looking anywhere but at him as her body heats from the thoughts that have just entered her mind.

"You will," he taunts. "I'll show you just how naughty you are."

Her gaze crashes back into his, drawn there by the fascination of his filthy words. The way he looks at her makes her go crazy. Turns her into someone that she's never been. Her belly tightens and her vagina clenches and the sudden ache she has for the fingers he'd had inside her so briefly is sharp and intense.

Regina has to have him.

She has to have this, too. This baby. This meaning for her life that will extend past this moment. Past this year. Past her death.

But, right now, she has to have _him_.

"Then you'll do it?" Regina's on pins and needles. She's on the very edge of the edge.

"I might already have kids," he says more to himself than to her. "What's another one? That I know about."

"That you have no contact with," Regina says, reminding him of the terms, but she's relieved because she knows he's agreeing.

"Right."

Regina's beaming now, almost unable to contain her giddiness. "You're going to do it."

"I'm going to do you, yes." When Regina scowls, he shrugs, "It's part of it. I stand by my words."

She's not going to correct him. Fuck yes, he's going to do her. Regina's elated. She's over the goddamn moon.

With her appetite gone, she pushes away her half-eaten food as well as the centerpiece, making room on the table. Robin furrows his brow as she digs into her purse and pulls out the papers that she had printed up earlier at the library.

Regina sets them in the space between them, facing him and explain. "I used a legal forms database to pull together this contract. It's a bunch of mumbo jumbo legalese but basically it states that you agree to participate in conceiving a child and will give up any parental rights. I've already signed. There're two copies there. One for me, one for you."

He scans his eyes over the contract and his mouth quirks in—is that amusement? Is he hiding a smile? But his eyes are kind when he looks back up to her, so she dismisses it.

Regina turns back to her purse for a pen. "I couldn't add that you were doing this in exchange for sex—if that is why you are doing this—because that would make the whole thing null and void." She did her homework. "Sex isn't a legal means of trade," she adds a bit proudly. "Prostitution laws and all."

Regina looks up and realize he's trying not to laugh. And failing.

"What? Did I do something—" Oh. Realization dawns on her. "You're a cop. Of course, you already know that. You don't need to laugh at me."

"No, I think I do." He's still very amused.

She doesn't mind a bit of teasing, but this is serious. She worked hard on this contract. And this is a big deal to her.

Regina stares blankly until he's pulled himself together.

"Sorry, sorry." He holds his hand out. "Where's the pen? I'll sign."

"Thank you." Her elation returns quickly as he signs his name in fine block letters. "Underneath the two copies is a printout of my most recent health check. STD free, as you can see." He flips through the pages and glances at the one she's talking about. "I'll need one from you too, please. Before. You know."

He hands her pen back. "Not a problem. I'll get you my records." He folds the top contract into perfectly even quarters and puts it in his back pocket before handing her the rest of the papers.

And it's done.

He's agreed.

Robin Locksley is officially going to bang her and put a baby inside of her.

She's nervous and excited all at once.

There's just one last thing. "You can't sleep with anyone else until I conceive," Regina says as she tucks the newly signed contract into her purse.

"That's cute."

His face suddenly falls. "You're serious."

"I need to be sure your STD screening stays current."

"I always use protection."

Regina ignores the way her chest pinches at the idea of Robin sleeping with someone else and concentrate on the very real, very logical reason why she's dying on this cross. "But _we_ won't be using protection, and I need to feel safe about this. It's a non-negotiable."

He taps his thumb on the table rapidly while he thinks, but for the life of her she can't tell what he's thinking. Is routine sex really that big of a deal for him? So much so that he can't miss a couple of weeks a month?

Her head says it's ridiculous that he can't keep it in his pants. But her body says there's nothing ridiculous about it at all. Her body likes how primal and base his urges seem. Her body wants in on that.

Regina can't believe she's about to say what she's about to say. "If sex during the week I'm ovulating isn't enough..." Regina swallows. "Well, I suppose we can discuss some other arrangements between the two of us."

She hasn't even slept with him once, and she's already doesn't know what she's doing.

It works though.

"Okay," Robin says, suddenly amiable. "You make a valid point. You need to know you're safe. From now on, I'm only fucking you."

Regina crosses her legs tighter. "Until I'm pregnant."

"Until you're pregnant."

Pregnant. She's going to be pregnant. If all goes well, she'll be having her baby before she's thirty. She needs to double-check her maternity leave.

On the topic of work… "We can't tell Belle."

"No," he agrees immediately. "Belle must never know."

"She'll try to make us into a couple," Regina says at the same time Robin says, "She'll try to tell you awful things about me."

She tilts her head, curious. "Awful things?"

"I meant she'll try to make us a couple." But he can't look at her.

"What awful things, Robin?" It's her turn to try to hunt his eyes down. Her turn to wish he wasn't hiding from her.

"Nothing. Pretend I didn't say anything."

"You're going to be the biological father of my child. I think I should know in case there's anything that might be passed genetically." She's teasing him.

"She'll try to tell you about a toy I had. When I was a kid." He shakes his head, his mind changed. "It's stupid. I'm not telling you."

"Officer Locksley. Tell me right this minute." When he doesn't give her anything but another one of his cocky grins she pulls out the big gun. "Fine. I'll just ask Belle next time I see her, you know."

"Noooo." He drags out the word like he's really adamant. "Do not ask Belle."

"Then tell me."

"You're going to laugh."

"I won't. I promise." Which isn't a fair promise. She _might_ laugh.

"Okay, but if you do, I'm going to have to spank you later." His eyes darken. "Or I can spank you anyway."

"Robin!" Now she's imagining his hand on her ass. Imagining how the slap of his palm would sound on her skin. How he'd massage the sting away after.

It's a good thing she'll be walking out of the restaurant with a coat on because she's so wet, she's pretty sure the back of her dress is damp.

He sighs, resigned. Then, with no trace of humor, he says, "She'll tell you that I had a baby doll until I was seven."

Regina can't help it—she laughs.

Not because she thinks it's funny that he had a baby doll, but because she thinks it's funny that his manhood is so threatened by telling her.

Regina has to tease him about it. Forever and ever. Starting now. "Robin Locksley played with dolls!"

"Doll. Singular. One doll. I cannot believe I told you this." He's mortified, and it's payback for all the times he's mortified Regina. "I had a baby sister. I saw my mother taking care of her all the time. It was natural to pretend—" He cuts himself off. "Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like anything." She's managed to contain her laughter, but she's grinning. He's a good guy. He's got good genes. He's going to make a good kid. She tries not to wonder whether he'd make a good dad too.

Because, at least as far as her kid-to-be is concerned, Robin won't be one.

When they've finished dinner, Robin helps Regina with her coat and walks her to her car, his hand pressed at the small of her delicate back.

Strangely, she doesn't have to direct him to her car. He already knows which one's hers.

"There are certain advantages to being a cop," he says when she confronts him about it. "It would be unwise of me not to use our databases to check out my date beforehand. What if you were a serial killer or a vegetarian?"

Regina rolls her eyes. "Your police database did not tell you that I wasn't a vegetarian."

"No, the Belle Locksley Gold database was useful for that one."

Regina leans with her back against her Prius door and licks her lips before she realizes what she's doing. She wants him to kiss her, but she doesn't want to be obvious about it. And she shouldn't want him to kiss her as badly as she wants him to kiss her, but she does, and her eyes keep darting to his lips, begging him with her body when she refuses to do it with words.

"I'll, um." His eyes are so blue, even in the dim of the streetlight. It's distracting. "I'll text you to work out the details about…" Regina trails off. It's real now. The foreplay is done, so to speak. Now onto what's next.

Oh God.

He steps toward her, putting his hands on her hips inside her coat, which is unbuttoned. "About where I'm going to fuck you first?"

Regina's heart beats double time. "Yeah. About that."

"It's okay to like it when I say that, Regina. Do you?" He towers over her, his six feet so much taller than her five foot five frame. Five foot six in these heels.

Regina has no chance against him.

"Do I what?" Regina says, her voice barely a whisper.

"Do you like it when I talk about fucking you?"

Regina blinks then tilts her head up toward him. "I don't know."

"You do know. Do you want me to tell you about how I'm going to fuck you?" His mouth dances around hers.

"I don't." She can't breathe. "Know."

"How about this—do you think about me fucking you? I know you do."

She shakes her head, but it's the slightest movement. Because she does. She so does. But Regina's not ready to admit it to him. She hasn't really even admitted it to herself.

But he's determined. "I know you do or you would have worn panties tonight."

She can't deny it. She can't do anything but fall into his eyes.

"I want you to admit it before I let you go."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can." He steps in closer, their pelvises so near to touching. Robin's lips just above hers. "Admit you think about me fucking you. Admit you're going to go home tonight and think about me inside you. Can you do that for me?"

It's one word. _Yes._ That's all she has to say, but she shakes her head again, refusing for no good reason except that she's not ready for him to leave.

"What if I make you admit it?"

"You can't." He's so close his exhale is warm against her skin.

"Yes. I can."

"No, you—"

He cuts her off, his mouth crushing against hers, and everything, everything stands still and speeds up all at once. Like the world around them has suddenly gone into slow motion, but they're moving fast and frantic, unable to kiss and taste and discover each other as quickly as they need to.

He feasts on Regina, and she feasts on him. His lips devour every sweep of her tongue. His teeth are playful and nip at her jaw. His stubble is rough and will leave burn marks with swollen lips, but she doesn't care. She wants it all. She'll take it all.

Regina throws her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, letting him know she consents. He takes her cue and his hands move from her hips to her behind. And then they're under her dress, grabbing her ass, touching her skin-to-skin. One finger moves lower, sliding past her rear hole and dips inside her cunt. She wraps her leg around him, and he lifts her up against the car, not much, just high enough that her pelvis presses against his, and she can feel the stone ridge of his erection at her core.

Jesus, he's hard.

So fucking hard that she's lost all sense for anything but him.

She's ready to go home with him tonight. Forget about the fact that she's not ovulating for a few more days. She's primed now. Besides, didn't he mention super sperm? Surely, they can last a few days. Or even if they can't, call this a warm-up round. Call this figuring things out before the real thing. Call this Mama needs a night out before baby comes along.

Regina shifts and suddenly Robin's cock is knocking at just the right spot. _There. There. There._ With this and his finger in her cunt, she's about to explode. She digs into the fabric of his shirt and starts to make a sound she doesn't recognize from herself. A sound between a whimper and a moan, and she decides right then and there that she can never complain about VPUs at the library now that she's been Very Personally Used in a public parking lot with absolutely no regrets.

Robin grinds harder against her. "You're sure you aren't going to be thinking about this?" he asks against her open mouth. "Tell me you're going to imagine me fucking you when you go to bed tonight. Tell me, kitten."

Regina's never going to stop thinking about this. She's going to replay it over and over. Thinking of this night, thinking of Robin, will be what gets her off for the rest of her natural life.

"Yes." _She's so close._ "Yes. I'll think about you," Regina gasps.

Instantly his hands are off her, and her feet are back on the ground.

She blinks several times, confused. Dazed. Her clit is throbbing so hard she's in pain.

Robin straightens his sweater, his breathing heavy. "I knew I could make you admit it," he says, his cocky grin lighting up his perfect face.

"But—" Oh my fucking God, she's going to murder him.

 _Murder_ him.

After she calms down anyway, which will require several cold showers.

"Don't pout, kitten." He pulls her coat together and buttons it while he talks. "We're going to be naked together the next time we see each other. I want you thinking about me until then."

Regina's too mad to talk. Too horny to talk. Too dazed by his kiss and her hormones, and his stupid twinkling blue eyes.

After finding her keys in her coat pocket, he clicks her car unlocked, opens the door, and helps her inside. He bends down so he can pull her seatbelt across her body and fastens it.

"So, we can be safe," he says.

And seeing him with his nephews was the whole reason she decided to pick him to be the father of her baby. Which is the reason she agreed to the date tonight. Which is the reason she's about to drive home with the most painful arousal she's ever felt.

"Don't even be cute right now," Regina grumbles, finally finding her voice.

"There's my kitten," Robin says. He brushes his lips against hers once more. "And Regina, I'll be thinking about fucking you too."

He shuts her door and backs up a few feet but makes no move to go to his car. She knows him well enough already to guess he's going to stay there until he sees her drive off safely.

His waiting is the only reason she doesn't stay in the parking lot and rubs one out before leaving.

As she drives off, Regina steals one last look at him. He's pulled his shirt down, but he can't hide the tent he's sporting. It's a minor consolation knowing that she's leaving him in similar agony.

And as he said, the next time she sees him, they're going to be naked together.

Regina ends up smiling all the way home.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N-Special thanks to all who read, review, etc. Also ty to Bekki for beta reading this.**_

* * *

Of course Robin said yes. It was a simple question, and he a simple kind of man. A hot librarian wants him to fuck her without a condom, empty himself inside of her, and then walk away from all the consequences. It couldn't have been a better present had it been wrapped in Paper Source paper and tied up with a goddamn bow. Also, there was that damn kiss by her car...he could still feel how wet she was against his fingertips, could feel how eagerly she rocked against him, how easily she surrendered to his mouth…

Oh yes. Fucking his little librarian is going to be a fucking delight.

So...it's all pretty simple, right?

The problem is that there's a small part of him that doesn't feel so simple about it. And it's that same unfamiliar part that lives in his chest and twists at the strangest thoughts. Like the thought of Regina being broken-hearted by other men. The thought of her wanting a baby this fiercely. The memory of the way she looked at Violet kicking happily in his arms.

After two days, he gives up. This weird pull in his chest won't go away and it doesn't make sense. It's not ordered, logical, or even _wanted_ —it's just there. Unasked for and confusing. Not lining up with any of the things he knows to be true about himself.

Well, except for one thing.

Robin likes her and he does want to fuck her, and Jesus, it's messed up, but the idea of going inside her bare, of actually trying to plant a baby in her, to _breed_ her...well, it gets him hard in a way he's never felt before. Urgently hard. Throbbing hard. His-balls-feel-fucking-heavy-and-full hard. He's masturbating like a teenage boy morning and night, and still he can't take the edge off this itch for her, the edge off this need to get her pregnant. To mate with her, like he's a fucking caveman.

So there it is. She wants him to get her pregnant, the idea of getting her pregnant turns him the fuck on, so he's all systems go for this insane, ridiculous plan. He's just going to ignore the distracting pull in his chest when he thinks about her and focus only on the logical.

Which means he's in the right frame of mind when he gets a text from her three days after their first date.

 **My ovulation test says my luteinizing hormone is surging today, and I have salivary ferning. Tonight, at the Nite's Inn, 8 p.m., please.**

It's polite and straightforward and all business, which appeals to the Spock-like part of him, although the horny part of him is pretty insistent that they take a few dirty detours tonight as well. If he wants this librarian out of his system by the time he knocks her up, then he's going to need to take full and long advantage of their nights together. She agreed to include non-fertile times as part of their arrangement, and he's already planning on exploiting that condition as much as possible. Besides, he read online that the man should ejaculate often to improve sperm motility or something like that. So him fucking her throughout the month is good for conceiving the baby too.

However, something about her text bothers him. Well, actually two somethings.

Something Number One—salivary ferning? What the bloody hell is that?

He tells dispatch he's going on a lunch break, but instead of going into the break room, he goes out to his Audi TT—the perfect marriage of muscle and clean, precise German engineering—and climb inside. There on the passenger seat are a bunch of books from the library about babies and pregnancy. (He checked them out from the Central Resource Library, to avoid the risk of seeing Belle and having to explain why her playboy brother is researching babies.)

And as he starts flipping through them looking for any information on _ferning_ , he pulls out his phone and make a call about Something Number Two, the Nite's Inn. It sounds familiar somehow, but he can't remember why.

His phone rings and it's his old partner, Killian on the line.

"Hey mate." Killian said.

"What's been going on in your life?" Robin asked.

"Same old same old. So we good for drinks tonight?" Killian asks.

"No," Robin says, giving up on this baby book too when the glossary yields no entry under the word _ferning_ or _salivary._ "Do you know the Nite's Inn?"

"You mean, do I know it from all the prostitution? Or do I know it from all the murder?"

"Oh. Oh man."

"Why?" Killian asks. "You got a lead from there you need to follow?"

"Not a lead exactly," Robin says slowly, glancing out of his windshield. "I've, uh. I've got a date I'm meeting there."

Robin has to hold the phone all the way out to the side when Killian laughs.

And laughs.

And laughs.

"Oh my God," he wheezes. "Oh my God. A date. At the Nite's Inn."

"She picked it," Robin says defensively.

"I bet she did. And did you meet her through an ad on Craigslist? Or on a street corner? Did you finally fuck your way through an entire county's worth of non-hookers?"

"No, no, no. This woman's a _librarian_." And he's about to add, _and I've agreed to get her pregnant, so we're meeting on neutral ground_ , but then he decides that Killian wouldn't think that was any less weird, so instead he just says, "And it's a totally normal date. Super normal. We are two normal people who are going to meet and have normal non-procreative sex."

Killian starts laughing again, wheezing and coughing. "That's what all the johns say," he squeezes in between laugh-coughs. "I hope you enjoy your normal, non-procreative sex, Locksley."

"You suck."

More laughter. "Oh man, wait until I tell everyone about this. Locksley has a date at the Nite's Inn. At the place where you pay by the hour. At the No-Tell Motel. _At the Nite's—_ "

Robin hangs up.

"Salivary ferning," Robin read to himself, running his finger along the words. "When a woman is close to ovulation, changes in her body chemistry give the saliva a fern-like appearance as it dries, as opposed to a speckled appearance."

Huh. The more you know.

Robin closes the book and texts Regina back.

 **Okay, Fern Woman. I'll meet you at 8.** Then he adds, **Are you super sure about the Nite's Inn?**

She responds right away. **I'll see you then, and I'm very sure. I'm doing this on a public servant's budget! And it's close to a Steak'n Shake, so you know it's in a good neighborhood.**

 **...Regina. Love. They found a body in that Steak'n Shake's dumpster last year.**

 **One body and all of a sudden it's a 'bad' place. You are so judgey! I, for one, won't be scared away by that one tiny thing. I like to see the best in places.**

His radio goes off in his ear—a senior is causing a disturbance at a nursing home and they need all available units to respond. With a rueful smile to himself at his idealistic little librarian, he sends her a final message and then climbs out of his car.

 **See you tonight, love. Don't get thrown into a dumpster before I get there.**

Even though he was mostly joking about the Murder Steak'n Shake, he gets to the Nite's Inn half an hour early so that he can be extra sure she's not in the parking lot alone. It's not that Overland Park is a bad place—for the most part, it's an extremely safe suburb—but he dug around some more at work today and found out that the Nite's Inn is extremely popular with truckers and construction workers, due to its proximity to the highway, low rates, and plethora of prostitutes.

Robin tells himself that it's his normal cop instinct that wants to keep Regina safe from rough, violent men in the parking lot—he wants to keep all civilians safe, because it's what he's taken an oath to do. It's the right thing to do. He certainly would do this for any person he was meeting at an hourly motel to impregnate.

Still, he can't entirely explain away the spike of excitement he feels when he sees her climb out of her bright blue Prius C. It's lust, yes, but it's also lust for more than her body—for her laugh, for her attention, for her little gasps of breath when he touches her or surprises her. Robin leans against the back of his Audi as she approaches, not making a secret of the way his eyes trace her body, not bothering to hide the thickening ridge in his jeans at the sight of her.

The night is warm for March, and a pleasant breeze ruffles her blouse, a white buttoned affair with dainty gathered sleeves that probably have a special name. The blouse is paired with slim black pants and little ballet flats. Elegant, classy, somehow all the sexier for how casually restrained it is. Her hair is back in one of those maddening librarian buns, and he has a brief vision of cupping that head, bun and all, as she kneels in front of him and works on his belt.

"Hey," she says as she reaches him, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Hey," he replies, watching her mouth. There's the faintest glimmer of lip gloss on her lips, as if she swiped it on quickly while she was driving. The idea makes him smile...and it makes him want to kiss the gloss right off her mouth.

She looks up at him, her eyes huge and liquid in the dark. And then her gaze falls to his mouth too. He wonders if she's remembering the kiss from their first date, the feel of his hard cock pressing into her, a hard, hot ridge grinding against her clit. And then her gaze drops from his mouth to his belt, where he knows she can see that he's already hard for her. Color floods her cheeks, and she struggles to pull her eyes back up to his face.

He has to kiss her right _now_. Robin reaches for her, catching her by the waist with both hands and swinging her around so he's got her caged against the car. "I'm hungry for your mouth," he tells her, dropping his lips to hers. "So hungry."

She breathes against his mouth, her entire body trembling. "Robin…" she says, sounding dazed. "We shouldn't…"

"Why not?" Robin asks, nibbling at the corners of her mouth, at the bowed curve of her lower lip. Her lips taste like berries, sweet and ripe.

"Because... _oh_ …"

He's moved to her jaw now, kissing his way to her neck, where he bites and sucks as much as he pleases, still keeping her caged against the car.

"Why, Regina?" he asks again, his lips tickling the shell of her ear. "Because _why_?"

She is squirming against him now, not in the struggling way, but in the way where she's trying to get her pelvis closer to his, seeking out any source of friction she can find. He gives her his thigh, and she makes this little grunt of satisfaction that drives him absolutely _crazy_ , squirming down onto the hard muscle of his leg as if her life depended on it. Her fingers are digging into his biceps, and the heat of her on his leg is insane, even through their clothes.

"You like that, love?" he whispers in her ear. "You can ride any part of me as long as you please, so long as you let me kiss you too."

"I...we shouldn't kiss," she says hazily. When he pulls back to look into her face, her eyes are glossy and her cheeks are flushed.

"But I think you'd like it," he says, pushing his thigh a little harder against her core.

Her eyes flutter. "I would, I did...but it's not smart." Her words come out breathless and stilted. "Because we should just focus on the...you know…"

"On the fucking?"

The word from his lips seems to focus her attention. Like laser focus. He can feel her trembling against him. "Right. The fucking."

"So you don't consider kissing a part of the fucking?" He's genuinely interested in this. He's never met a girl who didn't want to have the breath kissed right out of her by him. And anyway, _he_ really wants to kiss Regina. Like really, really, really wants to. Wants to feel those plush lips give in to his, wants to taste them, wants to flick his tongue against hers. He's probably beat off two or three times a day thinking about the kiss after their first date, and the urge to have another dirty, _dirty_ kiss like that with her is unbearable.

But if she genuinely doesn't want to, then he'll abide by her wishes. After all, he's a pretty creative guy, for a cop. He can come up with a thousand other dirty things he can do with her that will scratch his librarian-shaped itch.

"I just don't want to feel, ummmm…" she trails off as he rocks his thigh from side to side, her hands moving from his biceps to fist in his leather jacket. "...confused. It's too intimate."

"Kissing is too intimate, but trying to get you pregnant isn't?" Robin asks.

"People get pregnant in doctors' offices. With syringes. It doesn't have to be intimate, not like kissing."

She tilts her chin up, a little show of defiance, but she's still pressing herself hard against him. He tilts his head quizzically. "Are you calling my dick a syringe?"

A small giggle escapes her, and he leans closer to run his fingers along her ribs to tickle her. She laughs harder.

"No. Well, maybe."

"Love, they don't make syringes like what I'm packing. If they did, the doctor's office would be the most popular place in town."

"I didn't say it was a _bad_ thing. I'm excited to use your syringe." Then she flushes even deeper, as if she can't believe she just said that out loud.

Robin laughs too. She's so fucking adorable. He should stop bothering her about this kissing thing, but he can't help but ask, his voice laced with hope and caution:

"Is it something I can earn?"

She blinks at him, her body going still against his. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I want to earn it. If I prove myself to you, if I can prove myself a good man. Can I earn it? Earn kissing you?"

She's trembling again, biting her lip, still clutching his jacket. She finally meets his eyes and gives him a single nod.

 _Sweet._

And in the meantime…

"So for now you want to keep our insemination appointments strictly about the insemination?" Robin asks, already dreaming up some schemes.

"Yes," she replies, sounding relieved and disappointed all at once. "Just keep it about the insemination."

"Well, I'm here for whatever you need, love. But I've been doing some reading online—" Robin drops down to one knee and then the other in front of her, his hands easily working open the clasp to the front of her pants "—and I read that you need lubricant for insemination. For _syringes_." he winks up at her; she looks shocked.

"Robin, what are you doing?"

He wiggles the fly of her dress pants open, revealing a very cute pair of black panties. There's lace and ribbons and shit. Fucking awesome.

The rough concrete of the old parking lot digs into his knees, but he doesn't care. He tugs Regina's pants down to the middle of her thighs and then presses his mouth against that spot between her legs, kissing her right through the lace of her panties before he tugs them out of the way.

"Oh," Regina whimpers. She slumps against his Audi. " _Oh_."

Panties pulled to the side, he presses his lips against the top of her folds, his nose pushing into the firm skin of her mound. She smells like some kind of feminine body wash, the kind that has pictures of fruit and vanilla sticks on the label, and her panties smell like clean laundry. And under all that he can smell _her_ , the smell of damp arousal. Vividly, the sense memory of her smell and taste from their first date hits him, the sharp, sweet taste of her on his fingers as he licked it off.

Fuck, he's hard. He's so hard that he can feel his pulse in his cock. So hard that he can feel pearls of pre-cum beading at his tip. He didn't wear boxers tonight, and he can feel the denim rubbing against his need.

"Robin," Regina protests weakly. "You can't…"

He looks up at her, his lips still pressed to her panties.

"We can't," she repeats.

He pulls away slightly with a grin. "This is part of the insemination, love."

"Someone will see us."

"I already checked before you got here. There're no cameras on this side of the lot, and we're in the shadows. No one from the road or the hotel can see us. Plus, people are on their knees in this parking lot all the time."

"Oh," she says, as if she feels like she should protest more, but can't remember what she needs to protest about.

"Do you want me to stop because you don't want my tongue against your clit? Or is it because you're worried about getting caught?"

"I, um, I do want that. The first thing you said. I want it. The thing about your tongue— _fuck._ "

The moment she concedes she wants it, he hooks her panties farther to the side so he can access her clit, her folds. With her legs together like this, he can't tongue her deep, he can't lap up every bit of her taste like he wants to, but he can stroke her clit. He can flick the tip of his tongue against it, he can take it between his teeth and suck, he can cover her in nibble-marks and beard-burn.

And even as shallow and light as it is, he feels her begin to tense and thrash against the Audi. She makes that little noise again—half grunt, half whimper—and without thinking, his hand drops to his belt, working it open so he can give his cock a few rough yanks as he continues eating her. He loves being on his knees like this for her, dirty and fast, his cock throbbing, her losing all that reserve and distance and sliding her hands against his head, not to make his work her harder or faster, but simply to feel the tickle of his hair against her palms.

And right as she nears the edge, right as her thighs begin to tighten, he pulls away and gets to his feet, wiping his mouth and giving her his biggest grin as he loosely belts himself up. His cock whines at him.

"What are you doing?" she asks dazedly. " _Why_ are you doing it?"

"I'm keeping it all about the insemination, like we agreed. Just getting you ready for…"

"...don't even say it…"

"My syringe."

Regina lets out a groan and her head falls back. "I regret saying that now. I regret letting you unbutton my pants. I regret everything."

In response, he tugs her pants back up her hips and buttons them, giving her core gentle squeeze as he does. "I guarantee you won't be saying that tomorrow morning. Now, are you ready for me to put a baby inside you?"

"God, yes."

Ten minutes later¸ they're standing in possibly the most disgusting room Robin's ever been in. And having been on multiple dead body calls and multiple elderly hoarder calls, that's saying something.

"I think," Regina pronounces, bravely stepping deeper into the hotel room, "that it has a certain charm."

She hits the lights—only two bulbs buzz on and then one of them promptly buzzes back off. There's a dusting of dead bugs inside the light dish and several fluttering alive insects right underneath it.

"You can't just say that shitty things have charm, and make it be so," he tells her, exasperated. To prove his point, he flips back the covers on the bed. Something dark and beetle-like scuttles out of sight. He tugs a miniature black light out of his back pocket and shines it on the sheets. In the dim light of the dying, bug-covered bulb, they can see well enough that the sheets are covered in stains. Stains that glow neon bright, like a sign flashing: **DON'T SLEEP ON ME.**

"This is worse than I thought," Robin mumbles, backing away from the bed. Out of curiosity, he shines the black light on the walls.

"Oh God," Regina gasps in horror, both hands coming up to cover her mouth. "Was a pig slaughtered in here?"

"Either that or someone had a _very_ good night." He clicks the black light off and turn to face his soon-to-be baby mama.

"Well," she says, squaring her shoulders and starting to unbutton her blouse. "Babies have been conceived in worse."

" _What?_ "

She gives him a very librarian look. "I mean, historically and globally speaking. It's only our modern, Western sense of sterile hygiene that makes this seem gross—"

"Babe," he cuts her off. "If you get in that bed naked, I guarantee you'll get pregnant. But it might not be mine."

She looks back at the bed, considering.

"In fact, it definitely won't be mine because _I_ am not getting in that bed naked with you."

Her face seems to fall the slightest bit. "I just...I can't really afford something nicer, and it didn't feel right to suggest my place, and..." She trails off and shrugs, not making eye contact with him.

He softens. Well, his heart softens. His cock is still raring to go, especially since he can still smell her on his skin.

"Look, Regina. I'll tell you what. There's about—" he checks his watch and instantly consults his mental baseball schedule "—forty minutes left in the ballgame. What do you say we go grab some wings and some beer, watch the game, and I'll take care of the rest."

She sighs. "Dinner? Drinks? That's not keeping it just about the insemination, Robin."

God he loves it when she says his name. Even with a sigh. He walks over to her and pull her into him, and to his surprise, she lets him, folding perfectly against his chest and burying her face there.

"I really want wings right now."

She snorts against his chest.

"And I want you to have your baby, kitten, I really do."

"But?" she says morosely, still pressed into his chest.

He finds her chin and tilts her face up to him. "But you deserve better than this room. So does your baby. I know you think that every part of this has to be hard, and maybe lots of it will be. But this—this room—this is something I can make easier, okay? Let me help."

"Why would you help me? I'm basically forcing you into this, anyway."

"Because I like you? Too much for you to get bedbugs? Also I don't want the bedbugs?"

"Okay," she relents. "Take me to wings and beer."

"Give me your phone." Robin says as they finish their wings.

She chews on her lip for a second but hands it over. He plugs in an address and hands it back to her. "Meet you there in fifteen minutes. And I'm taking care of it, okay?"

"Okay," she says slowly, looking down at her phone. He sees the moment she realizes where the address is, what hotel it is. "Holy shit, Robin. No, you can't do this."

"I look forward to arguing with you once we get there. But let's do it while I've got my face buried in between your legs."

She flushes and mumbles something.

He gives her bottom a little swat. "Now, into your car, little kitten. I can't leave until you're safely on your way."

She shoots him a look that borders on indignant, but poutily so. And then she gets into her car, buckles up and drives away.

Bare.

The mere word sends a shiver through him as he pulls into the parking garage of the Raphael Hotel. Robin hasn't fucked bare since he was in high school with his first girlfriend. There was a broken condom once in college and a round of just-the-tip with a woman in his academy class that ended in some 'friendly fire'.

When he strolls into the lobby, Regina is already there and ready to argue some more. The hotel's too nice, she protests, he's too nice, nobody should be nice to her because it makes her feel guilty, and so on. He just keeps nodding as he checks in at the desk and as they take the elevator up to the room, injecting the occasional noise so that she thinks he's listening.

He's not though. Instead, he's watching her argue that he's being too nice by insisting on fucking her in a place without bedbugs. (It also has HBO. And free breakfast. And an oversized bathtub. _And a Keurig_.) And he then wonders if that's one of the reasons she wants a child of her own so much, if a parent-child relationship is the only kind of connection where she can imagine being completely unconditional. Completely free of the fears that seem to bother her now.

The elevator doors open and they're walking down the hall, Regina still arguing, and finally, he just cages her against the wall right there in the hallway and nuzzles his nose into her neck since she won't let him kiss her.

"I thought we were going to save this argument for when my face was between your legs," he murmurs, still nuzzling.

She shivers, tilting her head to grant him access to more of her neck. "I just don't like feeling like I owe you," she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as he moves his mouth over her earlobe.

"You made me sign a contract saying that we don't owe each other anything, right?"

"Right."

"And I hope you don't think I'm cruel enough to want something in return for a nicer hotel room."

She bites her lip. "No...I don't think that. I mean, I don't think it would be cruel for you to want something in return, but I also think you wouldn't ask it because you're already going to have sex with me anyway."

She's pressing up against him, breathing fast, and he pulls his head back to study her face with narrowed eyes. If he didn't know better, he'd think this librarian _wants_ to owe him something. Not with the better part of her brain, certainly, but all this talk of owing and cruelty has her awfully worked up.

And that has him worked up.

"I could be cruel though," he says carefully, studying her face. "I could decide that you owed me."

"And how would you make me pay you back?" she whispers, pupils dilated wide and dark. Yeah, she's into it.

"You've already promised me yourself," he says. "But there are other ways…" he runs the pads of two fingers along her lips and then slides the fingers into her mouth. She sucks without him telling her, and he almost comes in his pants.

"Come on," he growls, removing his fingers and grabbing her hand. He practically yanks her the rest of the way to their room, not letting go even as he digs for the keycard and taps it against the lock.

Once they're in the room, he doesn't waste any time noticing how much nicer it is than the one at the Nite's Inn, he only notices her, only pay attention to her. To the high spots of color in her cheeks and the pulse thudding in her throat.

"I need to see you," he says, shrugging off his leather jacket and pulling off his T-shirt. "Let me see you, Regina."

Her eyes flare at the sight of his naked chest and torso, and then, unexpectedly, she seems to falter, to grow shy.

"I, um…" she moves her purse from her shoulder and opens it up. "I need to get dressed first."

His brow wrinkles. "Dressed? That's moving in the wrong direction, sweetheart." Then he has a thought. "Is this like a coy way of saying you need to go brush your teeth or something?"

She swallows and shakes her head. "I need to _change_ ," she elaborates.

"Change into what?"

She sets her shoulders back, lifting her chin with that proud look he adores so much. "If you must know, I bought a thing. A sexy thing. Lingerie."

Mmm, lingerie. Now that's the L word every man wants to hear. He definitely will require her to wear that for him soon. Very soon.

But not now. Now, he needs to fuck her before his cock explodes.

He's trying to think of a non-caveman way to express this when she admits, in a voice that manages to be defiant and faltering all at once, "I wanted to make sure you were in the mood when the time came."

He has no response to this. Does she think him groping her in the parking lot and again in the hallway means he's not in the mood?

"Regina. Come here for a second."

She hesitates, thinking, but then she takes a step toward him. And another. And he finds her hand with his and presses it flat against his thick erection. "You don't need to wear lingerie for me. You can if you want to, but this is how you have me in slacks and a blouse that buttons up to your neck. You could be wearing one of those giant padded suits we use to train the police dogs, and I'd still want to take you to bed."

He lets go of her hand but she doesn't move it from his cock. Fuck, it feels good.

"I just…" she swallows. "It's been a little while for me, and I'm worried that I've forgotten how it all works. How to make it fun for both of us."

He leans forward, enough so that he can circle his nose around hers. She breathes in a jagged breath as he does, tilting her mouth up, but he's careful not to kiss her. "How long has it been, Regina? How long is 'a little while'?"

"Um, just some time."

He gives her jaw a little nip, not hard, just enough to send a shudder through her. "How long?" He repeats.

"Two," she whispers.

"Two weeks?"

"No."

He frowns, pulling away. "Two months?"

She draws herself up and meets his eyes with an expression he can't read. "It's been two years."

His mind goes blank; her words don't make any sense to him, don't compute. Two years without sex? Seven hundred and thirty days? Seven hundred and thirty _and a half_ days, scientifically speaking?

"How?" He asks. Her hand is still on his dick, and he is finding it impossible to actually process this information.

"Well," she explains, "the last time I had sex was two years ago. That's how."

"You're fucking gorgeous," he says, still confused. "I wanted to tackle you and fuck you right there in that school parking lot the first day I met you. Surely even if you didn't want a relationship, you would have had no trouble finding a man who would—"

"It just never felt right," she says. "After my last boyfriend dumped me, I tried hooking up with a guy I met at a bar, and it was fine, but it still felt like being vulnerable. It still felt like opening up to someone, even though it was supposed to be casual. I don't want to open up, and I don't need to. I can take care of those needs on my own. I have a fantastic vibrator."

But masturbating is not the same, he wants to argue. Part of sex is the sweat and the sighs, the give of another person's flesh, the smell of their hair, the taste of their lips. But then something else occurs to him, and it wipes all other thoughts out of his mind.

"Does this mean I'll be the first man inside you in two years?"

She nods, a shy smile on her face. Robin wants to nibble that smile, he wants to gobble her up, he wants to bite and possess her. And for the first time in three days, the twisting part of his chest and the rational part of his brain are in full agreement. His cock agrees too: they have to make this good for her. It's a huge honor to be the man she's chosen not only to father her child, but to make love to her after so long—she deserves for this to be good. Better than good. Perfect.

Also, his cock reminds her, there's something very exciting in the idea of being the first man inside that her in so long. Almost as if it were saved for him. As if it were his to possess.

"I've been thinking about it all week," she confesses. "What it will feel like. If it will feel tight and big and full. If you'll stretch me."

He groans. "You're killing me, Regina."

Another shy smile. "I can't wait to see you."

He reaches for her blouse and she lets him, moving her hand from his cock— _boo—_ up to his exposed chest, which does feel pretty good. As he unbuttons her shirt, she runs wandering fingers all over his chest and abs and shoulders and arms, her eyes wide and her lips parted.

"I like you touching me like that," he rumbles. And he so fucking does, it's like having his ego and his body petted at the same time.

"You're so strong," she marvels. Then she squeezes his biceps so tightly he can feel her fingernails dig into his skin.

He lets out a hiss, but it's a good hiss, and her voice is low and needy when she says, "Hurry, Robin."

She doesn't have to tell him twice. He finishes with the buttons and slides the silky fabric from her shoulders, where it flutters to the ground.

"Fuck me," he mumbles, drinking in the sight of her skin, the smoothness of her belly, the delicious weight of her breasts in her black lace bra. Her navel is a sweet little divot on that perfect stomach, a stomach mostly firm, mostly flat, but with some softness, some curve. He has to put his mouth on it.

He drops to his knees and kisses her belly button, running his lips and then his tongue around the indent of it. His touch seems to surprise her; she jolts the second his tongue touches her skin. But her hands thread through his hair, keeping his mouth against her skin, making it clear she wants more.

He gives her more. He kisses and licks along the lines of her stomach, he nibbles until it tickles and she's giggling breathlessly, and then once he thinks he's got her relaxed and comfortable with him again, he slowly works her pants open, looking up at her from his knees as he does. "Is it okay if I finish what I started earlier?"

"Yes," she murmurs. "I would like that."

Once he has her pants unfastened, he leans back onto his heels and brings her foot onto his thigh, where he gently eases off her ballet flat. Then again on the other side. He runs a finger along the arch of her foot before he sets it down, not to tickle but just to enjoy the feeling of her skin, to enjoy the way every touch of his seems to light her on fire.

Then he pulls her pants down her legs and helps her step out of them, so she's standing in front of him in her matching bra-and-panty set. Keeping eye contact, he slides his hands up the outside of her thighs to her hips, taking a moment to squeeze and grope her ass, and then he hooks his fingers in her panties and drags them down, exposing her core to him completely.

His cock aches the moment he sees it, and he can't resist the urge to lean in and give it a kiss. He can smell her, can see that she's already so fucking wet, and it makes him just want to shove his face in there and make her figure out trivial details like balance and keeping herself spread for him while he eats her.

But no, she deserves better. Which is why he stands up after dropping a light kiss on her clit and reaches around her with one hand and easily unfastens her bra.

"You're really good at that," she says.

Normally he would say something like _of course I am_ or _I've had lots of practice, baby_ , but it doesn't feel right at the moment. So he helps her pull the bra off, and then he stands back and looks at her. Just looks at her. Completely naked for him.

How did he get so lucky?

"You're beautiful," he tells her in a husky voice. "Fucking gorgeous."

Her tits are perfect teardrops with dark tips just begging to be sucked, and they're already puckered into tight buds for him. "I'm going to suck on those," he informs her. "Just so you know."

"Okay," she breathes.

"A lot."

"Okay."

"It will be good practice for when the baby comes."

"It's for the baby," she repeats, dazed. "Right."

"But right now, I have to finish something else. Get on the bed for me and on your back, please."

She obeys, climbing on the bed, looking more like a sleek cat than ever. And then she slowly stretches out on her back while he works open his belt. Her eyes darken at the sight, goose bumps cropping up on her skin as she hears the leather slide against his jeans as he pulls the belt free. He drops it on the ground and pops open the buttons of his jeans to give his straining cock some relief.

He crawls up on the bed in between her legs, coming to rest on his stomach with her core mere inches from his face. He uses his thumbs to trace along the place where her thighs meet her sex, he strokes her outside folds until she squirms. And then he uses those thumbs to spread her completely open for him, exposing the soft wet of her inner petals and the small opening to her sweetest secret. He finally gets to see and smell and taste what he couldn't in the parking lot, this wet well, this deep-rose pink of her that has been waiting for another person's touch for two years.

"Regina," he moans, because he doesn't know what else to say. He might come just from looking at her, come right in his jeans, because this is the sweetest thing he's ever seen and he doesn't even know how he's going to last more than a minute while he's fucking it.

"Please," she begs.

"I like you saying please," he admits, leaning in close so he can give her a long lick from her hole to her clit. "It's very polite."

"I'm always polite," she gasps. He licks again, this time straight into her entrance, circling and thrusting his tongue as she squirms. He has to wrap his arms around her thighs to keep her still enough for him to eat her the way that he wants.

"You are so polite," he croons in between kisses and sucks. "You let me feel you when I wanted it so badly at dinner the other night. You let me suckle your clit tonight when I wanted to. And in just a few minutes, you're going to politely spread your legs and let me take what I need. Going to let me come so hard inside you."

She moans, throwing her forearm over her eyes. "Robin…"

Two years since she's had an orgasm given to her, and he can tell. Her thighs are tight, her belly tighter, a flush creeping up her chest. He adds a finger to his efforts, then a second finger, easing her open, making her soft and swollen and ready for him. She's thrashing now, trying to close her legs, like the feeling is too much.

"I can't," she pants, twisting and writhing. "Oh God, it's too much, I can't, I can't."

"You will," he growls, sucking and licking and moving his fingers in the slow, curling way she seems to like. Underneath, his cock is throbbing and aching so badly that he can't help but rock his hips against the mattress as he can bring Regina closer and closer to orgasm. He can't wait to empty inside of her, can't wait to drain himself of every last drop deep in her, can't wait to feel her wet heat surrounding his naked skin. Consumed by that idea, he flicks his tongue over the swollen pearl of her clit faster and faster, pressing against the sensitive spot on her front walls with his fingers. He wants her wet and wrung out and wanting more by the time he's ready to push these jeans down and start pumping inside her.

Regina still chants _I can't, it's too much, I can't_ above him, and then her body betrays her words, tightening around his mouth and fingers, tightening like ribbons around a maypole, and then finally, with a cry so low and long that it makes him groan in response, she unwinds and releases. Her body trembles and quakes, and she's got one hand clutching his hair and her other covering her eyes, as if she can't handle having the power of sight on top of all the other sensory information flooding her body. As if his hair in her fist and the pulsing in her womb are her only anchors in this world.

He almost can't stand it, the feeling of her coming this hard, the sight of it, the sound of it, and the minute her flutters slow, and her hips stop squirming, he rises up to his knees and sucks on the fingers that were just inside of her. She watches him with dark eyes, her body limp and sated beneath him.

He finally opens his jeans the rest of the way. "My turn," he says, crawling over her with a sly grin.

Regina can't take her eyes off of him. He's a god. Adonis. The way he looks. The way he moves. The way she knows he's going to fuck. But it's more than what _he_ is that makes him divine. Because, yeah, he's beautiful, but also he makes _her_ feel beautiful. It's been a long time since someone's made her feel like that. Like sexy beautiful. Maybe she's missed it more than she realized.

He wriggles out of his jeans as he climbs up over her, and he's good at it. Good at undressing quickly in awkward positions without getting caught in his clothes the way she would if she tried something similar.

It's a testament to how experienced he is. She should feel put off by that, but in this moment, she feels just the opposite. It's part of how he makes her feel beautiful. Because with him she feels special. She feels lucky. Robin can have anyone. A man with his resume doesn't need a contract to guarantee his bed won't be empty. Yet he wants her. Enough to agree to forego other sexual relationships for what might be several months.

And if she didn't believe it when he signed, she surely believes it now that his cock is naked and stone in front of her. He tugs on his erection. Once, twice. Her eyes widen. She senses his hunger growing, and—is it even possible?—his dick thickens before her.

She wants it. She wants it so bad. She's just come, and she's ready for more. She's desperate for more. The reason she's here, the reason she's lying beneath him, suddenly isn't foremost on her mind. She stills want a baby, but right now the only thing she wants is his cock inside her. Stretching her. Filling her.

Is it so wrong to want to fuck him as much as she does?

It's biology. It's hormones. That's what she'll tell herself later. If their bodies didn't want sex, they wouldn't want to procreate. Desire is part of the process and giving into that desire is the step she's on now.

"I've been waiting for this," Robin half mumbles, half growls as he settles between her legs and bends to swirl his tongue around her peaked nipple.

Regina tilts her hips up to meet him and feel a delicious jolt of pleasure as his crown grazes along her hole. But then he slides his length along her slit, knocking his tip against her clit. At the same time, he sucks her nipple into his mouth, sending another electric shock to her lower regions.

It's amazing and hot as hell but not where she wants him. Not where she _need_ s him.

"Robin…" she begs, bucking her pelvis against him.

"Patience," he says, his mouth full of her tit. He squeezes her other breast with his hand, and she moans. He's enjoying tormenting her. She doesn't know how he can stand it. She can feel how hard he is as he rubs again along her slit. How big he is. It has to hurt.

She's certainly hurting. She can already feel another climax brewing. Slowly. Achingly.

"Robin!" she wriggles, trying to maneuver so she can get his tip inside her. "Please!"

He surrenders her breast and presses his forehead to her. "There it is." His lips are so close, hovering just above her mouth. For a second she thinks he might try to kiss her. Or, that she might try to kiss him. She had reasons for not kissing—good reasons. Important reasons. Crucial-to-this-whole-arrangement reasons.

She's just struggling to remember them when he says, "I was waiting for the magic word."

He reaches down between them and positions his cock at her entrance, and then, instead of thinking about his lips or wondering about kissing or not kissing, she's gasping as he pushes inside her.

"Oh my God," she pants, her eyes shut tight. He's bigger than she realized, and while it's not painful, she feels every inch of him as he slides in farther. He's hot and solid and nothing like the silicone MegaMan 2000 that's hidden in her underwear drawer. "Oh my God oh my God oh my God."

"You feel good too, babe," he rumbles before pulling out. "Open your eyes."

But she can't open her eyes. She can't look at him. It's too much to see on top of everything he's making her feel. He thrusts inside her, hitting a sensitive spot, and she jerks and cries out in surprise, because it sends her clenching in a sudden climax.

"Jesus, Regina, you're so tight when you come."

She's dizzy and dazed from this latest orgasm, but she's aware enough to feel that he has to fight so that she doesn't push him out. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her with him as he shifts onto his knees so that now she's sitting on his lap.

She opens her eyes, and there he is, right in front of her. Something in her chest tightens, and the air is suddenly missing from her lungs.

Robin grins, rocking in and out of her at a leisurely pace. "That's better."

But this is not better. Not for her. This isn't just biological desire anymore, this is… she doesn't know what this is, exactly. It feels too intimate. It feels too much like connection. It feels too _good_.

She doesn't like it, and she shifts, trying to get off Robin's lap.

"Hold on. I'll fix it," he says, and however he's interpreted her restlessness, he does fix it by gripping her waist and driving into her with such force she has to clutch onto him. She buries her head in his shoulder, and even though her torso is pressed against his, the lack of eye contact allows her to relax. Robin quickly finds an earnest rhythm, and once again she can believe this is just about sex. Just about feeling good for him. Just about getting to his climax for both of them.

Soon, a fine sheen of sweat covers their bodies. His muscles tense underneath her thighs, and she can tell he's close. This is one of the things that's different from getting off by herself—someone else's orgasm is as important as her own. She'd let herself remember sex with a partner as somewhat of a chore for exactly this reason.

But Robin's climax feels like anything but work, and not just because she's after his sperm. For one, he's exerting all the effort. But also she wants him to come because she's into it. She's into _him_. He turns her on and gets her hot like no one has in a long time, and part of what's so sexy about him is how turned on he seems to be by _her_.

That's not something she gets from the MegaMan 2000.

She pulls back so she can watch him. His tempo increases, and his face starts to screw up, and she's fascinated. Enthralled. That she can turn this man into this beast, that she can do this to him—it feels like a superpower. Is this how he feels when he's making her writhe and moan under his tongue? Like he's in command? Like he's in control? No wonder he moves like a god—this ability feels very almighty.

But just when she thinks he's on the brink, when she's sure he's about to release, he surprises her by pushing her to the bed and flipping her to her stomach. His dick slides out of her, and she's missing it.

"I'm not ready to be done," he says as he pushes her knees underneath her.

"Robin. The goal is releasing." The resistance in his tone is not matched by his body. His body is pliable, bending to how he wants her, because she's not ready to be done either.

He kneels behind her and pulls her hips up so she's at the right height. Then, with his cock in his hand, he rubs his crown along the slit of her swollen, soaked core. "I'll release. But first I'm going to enjoy you."

"This isn't about enjoyment," she moans. With enjoyment. "This is about making a baby."

He rubs his palm over her ass as he gently bucks his tip inside her hole. "For you, it's about a baby." He pulls out and immediately pushes just the tip in again. "For me it's about getting to be inside you for as long as possible. But if you want me to stop—"

He withdraws again, and this time he doesn't press in again right away.

"No, no!" she protests, thrusting her hips back toward him in an attempt to capture the prize. She sounds desperate and needy, and she is, even though she knows he's only teasing her, because he's going to go until he comes no matter what.

He chuckles behind her, amused by her obvious anguish.

"I mean. You're right. My reward is a baby. Your reward is the sex. So. Take your time."

"I plan to." There's that cocky grin again. The one that disintegrates her panties every time she sees it.

Guess it's a good thing she's not wearing panties. Oddly, she finds herself giving him a grin of her own. But then, without warning, he shoves all the way inside her and her smile's wiped off her face with a pleasure-filled grunt.

"Fuckkkkk, Regina." He grinds into her, slow enough that she knows he's paying attention to every sensation, just like she is. Consciously noting every point of contact. Taking the time to feel how his cock rubs her here and then here and, holy mother of holies, here.

She wriggles and twists, both trying to get away and feel more of him at once. Sounds come out of her mouth. Phrases that don't make sense. Words she barely recognizes. _Please enough more. Yes. Ung. So good so good so good it's good I can't so good._

She wants him to go faster, wants him to drive the ache from her body. She reaches down between her legs and rubs at her clit, needing some sort of relief, but her touch is like fire. She's nearly ready to explode just at the graze of her fingertips, and as much as she wants it, she doesn't think she can take it. So she drops her hand and curls her fists around the bedspread, pressing her forehead into the pillows.

"Can't. Wait," Robin pants, and, finally, he abandons his sweet agonizing torture, and picks up the tempo, pounding into her with a fervent frenzy. Her belly tightens and the tightness spreads outward, through her hips. Down her thighs. Her vision blurs. Her body tingles, everywhere.

She's going to come, and Robin, she can tell, is right there with her. And as much as she'd wanted to watch him when he does, she's glad that her face is turned away from him now. Because in the beautiful chaos of this heightened state of sensations, she remembers more than just what it's like to feel beautiful. More than what it's like to watch a man come. She also remembers that, once upon a time, she wanted all of this, all the time. Once upon a time she wasn't done with men. Once upon a time she believed that being with someone like this could be something that lasts.

She knows the memory is etched on her face when the wave of pleasure washes over her and pulls her under. She's glad Robin can't see this because then he'd know she has doubts. And no one can know she has doubts. That's a secret she keeps even from herself.

She's still navigating her way through her own orgasm when Robin stills behind her. With his fingernails gripping her hips, he lets out a long, low grunt and presses his pelvis tight against her hips as he comes inside her. Then he collapses on the bed next to her with a contented sigh.

She turns her head to the side so that she can't see him and give herself a few minutes to catch her breath and gather her strength. Her limbs feel loose and weak, and she's exhausted. Her brain feels like mush, but she forces herself to think clearly. This was good—this was _amazing—_ she'll give herself that.

But now it's over. She can't let herself get comfortable.

She's about to get up when he stirs. "You're fun," he says, nudging her back with his elbow.

"I'm fairly certain that any fun that was had was because of you."

"And you."

She glances back at him and find he's grinning with as much lust in his gaze as ever. "I assure you," she tells him in her very serious, very librarian voice, "I am not fun."

He laughs. "Whatever you say, Regina."

Then she laughs too because this _has_ been fun. Which means maybe she is fun. When she's with him, anyway. Which is very temporary.

She starts to roll out of the bed when Robin stops her.

"Where are you going?" he asks with a note of alarm.

His reaction startles her, and she's suddenly unsure. "To...clean up?"

"No, no, no," he admonishes. He's up now and coming around to her side of the bed with a pillow in his hands. "You're not supposed to get up right away. On your back. Put this under your hips." He guides her back down and slips the pillow underneath her. "You should sit like that for at least fifteen minutes. We should say twenty to be sure. I'll set a timer." He rustles through their discarded clothes, presumably looking for his phone.

"Uh. Okay. Thank you." She's not sure how else to respond. She'd been in such haste to get out of the room before things started to feel too intimate, she'd completely forgotten one of the best practices for conceiving is keeping the hips elevated after sex.

More stunning is that this is something Robin knows. She's impressed.

And touched that he cares enough to remind her.

He's probably just concerned about his obligation to knock her up. He signed a contract and all. The sooner it happens, the sooner he's back to banging a different woman every night.

She dismisses the jealous jolt that thought sends through her. She only feels that way right now because this was the first time they've been together, and the sex was so good. By the time she's pregnant, she'll surely be over it.

But while she's still not over it…

She shamelessly admires Robin's bare ass while he bends to grab a beer out of the mini-fridge.

"You want something?" he asks when he catches her looking.

Despite everything they've just done together, she feels her face flush. "Water, I guess. Thanks."

He brings her a bottle of water and tosses his phone on the nightstand, facing it so she can see the timer. Next he picks up the television remote, and after flipping through most of the channels too fast to see what's on, he finally settles on ESPN. Then he stretches out on the bed by her, one hand cradling his head, the other holding his beer.

He's still naked.

And he seems to have no intention of changing that anytime soon.

She gapes, but he doesn't notice. She rubs her eyes and take a deep breath. Maybe she's being too rigid. It's twenty minutes. He should be allowed that time to enjoy his beer.

"What does your tattoo mean?"

He glances at her. Then he turns his bicep so he can see his ink, and with his left hand, he points at the base of his tat. "This is a coat of arms from my family's line."

"Why did you want to be a cop?" Regina asks.

"I'm a cop because I want to stand up to injustice. Fight for the good guys. Like Captain America. That's all." He scowls, and it's sexy and adorable and funny all at once.

"Your nephews love you, I can tell."

He jerks his head slightly like it's no big deal. "They're like my kids. I probably won't have any of my own. I'm already thirty-three. It's not like I'm settling down anytime soon. Or ever. So they're the closest thing I've got. That means something to me."

Their gazes lock.

"Or, you know," he says carefully. "I probably won't have any besides yours. And that one won't actually be mine. So."

The air suddenly feels heavy. Tense.

What if her baby-to-be is Robin's only kid? What if he never has any others? This man who would obviously make such a good father... Does that change things? Does that mean something to her?

"Regina…" he begins, but whatever he's going to say is cut off by the buzz of the timer sounding from his phone.

"I need to go," she says, bolting up from the bed. She has to get out of here. She has to be somewhere that he's not. Somewhere where his presence and his life story won't tempt her to care about him or his future or whether or not he'll ever be a dad. It's not her place to care.

"Go where? It's late. We have the room all night." He seems truly surprised by her sudden desire to leave.

She pauses while gathering her clothes and stares at him incredulously. "We can't stay here together, Robin."

"Sure we can."

"No. We can't." How did he not think that spending the night together would cross the line from baby insemination to way too intimate? This was supposed to be detached. Sex and nothing more. She should never have allowed the wings or the fancy hotel or so many orgasms. Somewhere she lost control, and she has to get hold of the reins and not let things happen like this again.

Okay, maybe the orgasms can stay. But the rest has to go.

A beat passes, and for a second she's afraid he's going to continue to argue.

But then he says, "Okay. Right. Of course." Though he doesn't appear happy with her proclamation, he seems to get why she's proclaiming it. "But you should stay. I'll go." He stands and grabs his jeans from the floor.

"No, I couldn't do that."

"Yes, you can." He's already got his pants half on.

And now she feels like scum. "That's not fair. You paid for the room, a room you shouldn't have paid for in the first place." She runs a hand through her hair, considering what to do. "Maybe if we check out now they'll give you your money back. We haven't been here that long."

"This isn't the kind of place they rent by the hour, sweetheart. One of us is staying, and it should be you." She starts to protest again, but he cuts her off. "I have to be at work at six a.m. tomorrow, which means I'll miss out on the courtesy breakfast, which is the best part of staying here."

"But—"

He puts his hands on her upper arms and bends to meet her eyes. "They have crème brûlée French toast, Regina."

"That's—"

"Crème brûlée. French toast." He says the words slowly. Prayerfully. "Someone has to eat that, kitten. We can't both miss out."

A thousand arguments flash through her mind in the space of a mere second, and she knows in her gut that he has a comeback for every single one.

"Fine. But I don't have to be happy about it," she huffs dramatically, dropping her clothes to the floor in a dramatic flourish. Now she's naked and has nothing to hide behind, which is kind of awkward when just the sight of Robin moving around half undressed makes her nipples hard. She goes to the closet and find a courtesy robe inside. She wraps it around herself and when she turns back to him, he's nearly fully clothed.

She tells herself she's not disappointed. They're going to have to do this whole banging thing again. She'll still have more naked Robin time. Just not tonight. And not so personal next time.

He looks at her gravely as he threads his belt through his pant loops. "Turn the deadbolt after I leave, okay?"

"Okay," she says half-heartedly.

"This hotel has a good reputation, but I won't be able to sleep if I don't know you're safe."

"I'll lock it."

"I'm serious," he says, fastening his buckle. He starts for the door. "I won't leave until I hear it latch."

He's making her feel worse. He's too sweet. Too _good_.

"I'm right behind you. You'll hear it lock." She follows after him, wishing she didn't want to invite him to stay. Wishing it was easier to watch him go.

He opens the door and pauses. "Text me."

"With the next meet-up? Or to let you know I locked the deadbolt?"

He narrows his eyes at her with the same warning that made her skin tingle earlier. Now it makes her thighs tremble. She knows if he stayed there'd be another round of fucking, and she almost convinces herself that it's a good idea, for conception prospects, of course.

Except she wants him to stay too much. Which is precisely why it's not a good idea at all.

His eyes flicker to her lips then back to her eyes. "You can just text. Anytime. No reason. Send pics if you want."

"I'm not sending you dirty pics!"

"I was thinking more like pics of that French toast. But if you have other ideas…."

Grinning despite herself, she pushes him into the hallway and holds the door open with her shoulder. "Shut up and go," she tells him, wondering if he can see how much she really wants him to stay.

"Shut the door and lock it," he retorts.

She shuts the door and waits a beat before locking it, savoring the knowledge that he's still there, on the other side, until he hears the click.

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

A/N-Special thanks to all who read, review, follow and fav this story. And also big thanks to Bekki for beta reading this. XOXO.

* * *

"Earth to Locksley."

Robin squints up at Killian Jones, who is standing outside his patrol car with his arms folded across his chest. He's been on a tear this morning, scrubbing down every inch of his patrol car, wiping down every nook and cranny with possibly more vigor and attention than is strictly necessary, but the city is quiet this morning and he needs to keep himself occupied. If he doesn't, there's real danger that he could end up thinking too hard about last night. About the wide-eyed way Regina looked at him as she came, about the catch in her voice when she thanked him for putting that pillow under her hips.

About the way she asked him to leave.

"Hey, Jones. What's up?"

"I've been trying to talk to you for a couple minutes now. You okay?"

"Totally okay. Just a long night is all."

"I know what kind of long nights you have."

"I have no comment on that."

"The chief wants to see you. Now."

"He wants to see _me_?"

"Yep. Apparently he hasn't forgotten our conversation about body cameras at the meeting last week, and he just called me to tell me to send you his way."

"Ah, fuck."

"Yep," Killian agrees.

Robin grabs his things and climbs out of the car, steeling himself for whatever will happen.

"Good luck, mate." Killian says.

"Locksley," the chief says as Robin walks into his office, not looking up from his computer screen. "Sit. Please."

"Chief Nolan," Robin starts, not sure what he wants him to say, but he holds up a finger to quiet him and finishes whatever he was doing on the computer. Then he swivels his chair so he's facing him head on.

"Contrary to what you might think of me," he says after a moment, "I didn't come to this city to stonewall progress."

Chief Nolan sighs and looks out the window at the rows of parked patrol cars. "I don't want that reputation. Not with the officers. Not with the public."

"Sir—"

He stands up and Robin bites his tongue, which is _so_ hard because he has so many things ready to say to him. Cajoling things, arguing things, angry things. Things he's practiced every day in his mind since he turned in the body camera committee's recommendation and got no official response.

"You've got two things to battle here, Locksley. There's the budget of course, but there's also this." He taps a finger on a small stack of papers next to him. "This is a petition from a local chapter of a group called Citizens Against the Theft and Negation of Individual Privacy."

He gives him a meaningful look, as if he's supposed to know what that means.

"That's a pretty long name for a group," Robin offers, then adds. "And their abbreviation is C.A.T.N.I.P.?"

"Robin, this isn't a joke. I've got almost five hundred signatures here, along with personal essays from most of these folks, telling me they don't want videos of themselves winding up in the hands of strangers. I just got to this city last year, and I don't have any way to explain myself to the city council if this department gets taken to task for not properly vetting policies and our approach to new equipment."

"Sir, with all due respect, we have studies and data from all over the country saying that both citizens and officers are safer with this upgrade—"

"Are you saying privacy isn't important? First Amendment rights? Anyone can file a Freedom of Information Act for any record—is it so boggling that people don't want footage of themselves being requested and then splashed all over the internet?"

"There's too much scrutiny on police departments right now for us to charge into this without addressing citizen concerns."

" _Some_ citizen concerns," Robin adds quickly. "Because there are just as many citizens, if not more, who would support us moving to the body cameras."

David nods after a minute. "Well said, Robin. And though it may surprise you, I agree. There's a way we might be able to get around this, and I want you to be the one to help me."

"Whatever you need, sir."

The chief hands him the C.A.T.N.I.P. petition. "Get me more than five hundred signatures. Get me a petition bigger than this, demonstrable proof that this city wants body cameras, and then I have a leg to stand on when it comes to the city council and the media. The headline _cann_ _ot_ be 'Local Police Rob Citizens of Privacy.' Got it?"

"Got it, sir."

"Good. Don't let me down, Locksley. Help me do this the right way."

"Yes, sir."

Robin's feeling so good after his meeting with the chief—he's not fired! He might be able to make this thing happen!—that he pulls out his phone as he walks out of the chief's office. He can't wait another moment to talk to Regina, and he has a good excuse, and after the way things ended last night, he needs...something. To talk to her or just to be around her. He doesn't understand it, but he needs it.

 **Hey Regina. We talked about meeting up more than once during your fertile window—would tonight work?**

There. Businesslike, friendly, all about the baby.

But he can't help but add, **I still haven't forgotten that you owe me ;)** and he presses send before he can think too much about whether it's a dick thing to say or not. But hey, she seemed into it last night, and he is still very into the idea of sliding into her sweet, wet mouth.

His phone buzzes a second later. **Yes. We should meet again tonight...and maybe it will be more efficient if we meet at my place? I've decided you probably aren't a serial killer.**

Robin smiles to himself as he walks out of the station, typing to her as he walks. Maybe they can move past the wall she threw up between them last night after all. **Definitely not a serial killer. Promise.**

 **Sounds like something a serial killer would say.**

 **How can I convince you? Other than being a police officer, related to one of your closest friends, and the potential father to your child, I mean.**

 **Bring delivery food with you. I'll be just getting off work, and the food you choose will tell me whether you're a killer or not.**

 **10-4, Regina.**

He's full-on grinning as he walks out to his car now. Tonight might actually be the perfect night for the dinner, drinks, handcuffs. And she trusts him enough to let him see her in her house. That sends a warm blooming through his chest that he doesn't examine too closely.

Instead of going for his patrol car, he heads for his police motorcycle instead. As he does, his phone vibrates with Regina's address, and then with a second message.

 **I haven't forgotten about owing you either...can't wait to pay you back.** And then there's a lipstick kiss emoji next to an eggplant emoji.

He might have some trouble straddling his bike at this rate.

After his shift is over, he parks his motorcycle in the station garage, changes out of his uniform, and drives from the station to Regina's place. She's got a condo squeezed into a cluster of pale brick buildings and edged by a little park. The whole affair is ringed with tired sidewalks and those trees that drop too many spiky brown balls.

It's on a busy street, and when he parks his car and glances at the street and then at the buildings in front of him, his mental rolodex of police history spins and flutters on its own. It's one of the best and worst things about knowing a city so well; he knows exactly how safe a place is, he knows the character of the people who live around there, he knows how quiet or noisy it is. Which he likes, because he likes knowing things.

But the worst part is staring at the street and remembering the messy fatality he worked there last year. Or the teen who was struck and killed by a drunk driver as she crossed the street on the way home from band practice five years back. Or the old woman across the street who would insist on shoveling her own driveway every time it snowed...the third time he saw her out doing it, he made a point to stop by anytime the white stuff fell and do it for her. She gave him hot cocoa and store-bought cookies for his trouble.

She died two years ago. She was dead for a week before a neighbor thought to check on her.

Robin walks to Regina's door, and knocks, she answers the door still in her work clothes—a pleated skirt paired with thick black tights and round-toe heels, a thin blouse and another fucking bun. She looks like a librarian wet dream. His mood picks up immediately.

"Hey, gorgeous," Robin says, flipping up his sunglasses. It's getting too dark for them anyway, and he wants to drink in this view. Her, in her doorway, inviting him inside her house. Her smile as her fingers play with the side of the open door. "Hi, Robin," she says softly. "Come in."

She lets him in and slides past him to lead the way.

"What kind of food did you bring?" she asks, looking back. She catches him staring at her ass moving under her skirt and rolls her eyes. "Seriously?"

Robin smirks at her.

They walk past the entryway and into the combined kitchen and living space. Even though these are probably the cheapest condos in the city, it's a fairly nice city, and so this is still a pretty nice place. Wood floors, updated kitchen, big windows. Regina's got IKEA furniture and a good eye for color and space, and so the whole condo feels clean and fresh.

Except.

Except.

Robin drops his bag of food on the kitchen counter and turns to face Regina. "Got enough books in here, princess?"

She blushes and mumbles something as he goes to inspect the bookshelves that are double and triple stacked with books, the shelves so heavy that they sag in the middle. There are books on her mantel, stacked next to her coffee table, stacked on her kitchen chairs in dangerously leaning piles.

"There's a system," she says a bit defensively. "And I keep the library books in my bedroom so they won't get mixed in."

"You have _library_ books too?" he asks. "Have you even read all of the ones you own?"

She crosses her arms and juts her chin up in a gesture that's becoming very familiar to him. It makes him smile. "Well, not all of them, but I will someday and it's my job to keep up on what's popular with the patrons."

"Uh-huh."

She sticks out her tongue at him, pink and wet, and she's the opposite of everything that weighed on his memories in the parking lot. She's playful and healthy and vibrant and alive. And he can't help it, he grabs her and pulls her into him, moving his mouth down at the last moment so that he's kissing her neck instead of her lips. Her knees slump, and she sags in his arms.

"Robin," she murmurs. "The food."

"Fuck the food," he growls, swinging her up into his arms. "Where's your bedroom?"

"The door is by the couch," she says, lacing her arms around his neck. All of his depressing thoughts from earlier melt away, all his everything melts away with the feeling of her in his arms, with her giant brown eyes gazing at him as he walks them to her bed.

"I'm going to fuck you at least twice tonight," he says, tossing her onto the mattress and unbuckling his belt. "Fucking, then food, then more fucking."

"Okay," she agrees breathlessly.

"Once isn't going to be enough," he says, freeing his cock and giving it a few quick pumps as his knees hit the edge of the bed.

"No, it won't," she whispers, staring at his member, which is now thick and hard in his hand. Her hand is under her blouse, pulling and rolling her own nipple.

He groans. She's too fucking much sometimes. The pleated skirt and that bun, and then with that dirty hand tugging on her own nipple like she can't wait for him to get to it himself. She's what every teenage boy beat off imagining; she's what every teenage boy wished their librarian would be.

She reaches up then, taking his erection in her hands and squeezing, stroking up and down. He takes one of her hands and moves it down to cup his balls. She holds them with the perfect amount of pressure, her palm the perfect kind of warmth, her fingertips grazing the sensitive spot just behind them.

"Enough," he grunts, pushing her hands away from him before he goes off all over her fingers. "I need you."

"Yes," she agrees, nodding fast. "God, yes." She reaches for the buttons at the side of her skirt, but he's too fucking impatient for that either.

"How much did these tights cost?" he demands.

"I, uh, I can't remember," she says. Her eyes are on his cock again, her expression hungry. "Maybe a few dollars?"

"You can invoice me for expenses," he tells her and then flips up her skirt and spreads her legs. With his finger, he tears a small hole in the crotch of her tights and rips them wide open, thigh to thigh, just like he wanted to do with her leggings on the day he met her. Soon, she is wide open to him, covered by nothing but a flimsy scrap of lace. He tears that off too, and she squirms.

"Oh God," she murmurs. Her hand is back to playing under her shirt. "Oh God, oh God."

"You can call me Robin," he says as he puts a knee on the bed.

She giggles at the old joke, and she's so fucking hot, so fucking fun, and a small window opens up in his hard, aching urgency. A window to something else, another version of them. He leans down and brushes his lips across her cheeks, her nose, her hair, kissing all the places he's allowed to kiss.

"I want to earn your mouth, Regina," he murmurs, his lips on her face. "It's all I think about, kissing you." She sighs under his words, and he wants to kiss her sigh. He readjusts his knee to move over her and slides into her, but he keeps his mouth hovering over her skin, keep his eyes burning his need into hers.

"Robin, wait," she suddenly says, sitting up, her eyes slowly kindling with something that can only be described as panic. "Wait!"

"What?" He moves back from her.

"This is too—it's too—" Her expression is pleading, as if she expects him to understand what she means even when she can't find the words for it. "You're making it feel too—"

"Too what, love?" He tries to keep his voice open and receptive.

"It feels too real," she admits finally, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Or too fast. Or too easy or something."

"It's supposed to be easy, and I'll go slow next time, promise." He starts leaning forward on the bed again, and she holds up her hand.

"Too _intimate_ ," she says. "That's what I mean. It feels too intimate. You just waltzing in here and making me want you and sweeping me off to my room…"

"You don't want that?" Robin asked.

"I just needed to remind us—or myself—that it's to get pregnant. Only for that."

"So we're back to syringe-dick now?"

She closes her eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. But yes, I'd feel better if it was more...impersonal."

"Whatever you want, Regina," he says, sliding his knee off the bed.

Her eyes are still closed. "Thank you."

But then her eyes fly open as he grabs her hips and hauls her to the edge of the bed so that her ass is nearly off the mattress, and then he take her knees in his hands and spreads her legs wide enough for him to stand between them. "You want to make this clinical?" he asks, and he can't help the coldness in his voice—or maybe he can—but he's too angry to help it.

She turns her head away from him. "Clinical is good," she says, and in her voice, he hears resignation and regret and determination. Regina Mills, always so determined to have it her way.

"Then we'll make it clinical," he says, letting go of one of her knees so he can fist his erection and bring it to her opening. "Just pretend you're doing this the right way. Just pretend you're at the doctor's, waiting for some anonymous hands to give you some anonymous man's baby." He teases her entrance with the dark and swollen head of his cock. She's so fucking wet, it'll take nothing to sink inside her.

"Robin," she says but says nothing else.

"You're just lying back and letting it go inside you," he says, and then he mirrors his words, pushing the wide crown of his cock into her folds. "You're just waiting for it to be over. Because all you want is the baby." He pushes in deeper, all the way to the root, and her back arches, her mouth parting in a silent cry. It's so tight in there he could die. "You don't care how you get pregnant. You don't care what it feels like."

He drops his thumb to her clit, rubbing in the tight circles he's learned she likes. "It's just a transaction, right? Just an impersonal transaction?"

He tilts his hips up ever so slightly as he pulls out, making sure to drag the flared edge of his tip against her sensitive front walls. She gasps, her back arching again. He pulls out almost all the way, and then he pushes back in. Hard. She cries out, her hands flying out behind her to grasp at her comforter.

"It's just a procedure, Regina. Just biology." He rubs those circles and strokes in and out of her, so fucking worked up. And yet it's not enough and he doesn't fucking know why.

Until he does.

"Look at me," Robin says. A command and a plea all at once. "Look at me."

She does, turning those warm brown eyes onto his.

"That's it. I want to watch your face as you come. Because it doesn't matter how impersonal I make it, Regina, you're still going to come for me. Aren't you?"

Her hands are still grabbing at her comforter. "Yes," she breathes. "I'm going to come."

He goes deeper, faster, rubbing and thrusting and breathing hard. "Even if it's not intimate, even if it's not easy or real, you just can't help but come when I'm inside you, can you?"

She moans, shaking her head.

"I can't hear you," He growls. He can feel the sweat on his face, he can see the flushed heat in her cheeks.

"I can't help it," she confesses in another moan.

"Can't help what?"

Her eyes are fluttering now, her body squirming in gorgeous, taut lines. "Can't help...coming. You make me come."

"Fuck yeah," He breathes, thrusting in to the root. He feels the moment she trembles at the edge, like a leaf caught by the wind, and then she blows over with a sweet cry, back bowing off the bed, toes curling, her thighs clenching hard. And she's quivering around his cock in the most delicious caress a man can feel.

And then he lets go. He grabs her hips and he ruts into her, all sorts of depraved images running through his mind, sinful urges, lusts that go down to the very root of life itself. To mate. To breed. To fuck until he plants his seed inside her.

She's still panting and clenching when he lets loose and pours into her, filling her up as deep and full as biology demands, as his crude fantasy of her spread on a doctor's table demands. He feels the cum pumping out of him fast and hard, and he holds her hips tight, keeping her speared on his cock as he finishes emptying into her.

Her eyes are on him the entire time. He gives one last pulse and then slowly pulls out.

 _Mine_.

All mine.

The moment the words enter his thoughts, he tries to banish them. Regina's not his. Her body isn't his, and this baby won't be his except in the loosest sense. He won't get to claim her, in fantasy or otherwise.

To hide his discomfort, he moves away and grabs a pillow from the top of her bed.

"Robin," she says.

He ignores her, handing her the pillow and then helping her orient herself on the bed so she can elevate her hips. He pulls up his jeans, and he's about to leave her on the bed when she grabs his hand.

"Robin," she says again.

"I need to go figure out the food."

"Fuck the food," she says seriously.

"Regina—"

"I want you to stay in here with me," she interrupts. "Please."

He pauses and lets himself look down at her. She looks beautiful and open and vulnerable right now, her hair coming loose from her bun and her clothes torn and rumpled. And God help him, he likes the way her hand feels holding his. He likes the way her voice sounds making such a naked and honest request.

He sits down next to her, but she doesn't let go of his hand. Instead, she tugs him so that he's turned and she's able to see his face.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have said those things. Not while we were about to have sex."

"Don't say sorry. I don't mind. Promise."

He's lying. And he doesn't know why.

She sighs and lets go of his hand so that she can move the pillow under her hips. "I mind, though. It wasn't fair to you. And I shouldn't make my neuroses your problem."

"It's really fine. You got off, I got off inside you—which was the whole point—everything happened the way it should."

"No," she says, shaking her head. When she does, her bun loosens even more. "No, it didn't. I mean, it was amazing, but I treated you like a sperm donor instead of a person."

"But I am a sperm donor to you." And why does that make him feel so bitter all of a sudden?

"Well, yes, that, but you're more too." She shifts so she can look at his face more easily. "You're a man I really like. A man I respect."

This shocks him a little.

"You're also the best lover I've ever had. You make me feel so good."

Okay, he's a lot shocked now.

"But I'm not used to this, Robin. I know you are, I know that your M.O. is having fun with women you plan on never seeing again. But I've never done that, and in my mind, this kind of arrangement was only going to work if we treated it like a transaction. I didn't expect it—or you—to be so easy to enjoy. It scared me a little."

He brushes a strand of hair off her forehead. "You don't have to be scared of enjoying yourself."

She smiles. "I'm not, as a rule. But I didn't expect to enjoy this, and while I'm good at adapting to things I don't expect, I need time to process it. Sometimes that means I resist or shut down while I'm processing, and I'm sorry I did that to you. But I think I'm okay now."

He studies her. "Okay with enjoying this?"

"Okay with enjoying this," she confirms. "And still not getting attached."

 _Attached_. It's one of those words that he associates with bad things—pleading texts and late night phone calls and possessiveness. A toxic word. And yet, he finds he doesn't mind the idea of Regina getting attached at all. In fact, the idea of her being possessive of him is rather pleasing. Especially because he's starting to feel rather possessive of her.

 _Dial it back, Good Times._

"You're a careful woman, love" He tells her. He brushes another strand of hair away from her face. "I know you won't get attached. You're too guarded for that."

She blinks up at him, like she has a response but she's already forgetting it. Which is good, because he doesn't know if he believes his own words. She _is_ guarded, she is careful—she's fierce and strong and almost ferociously independent—and yet behind those walls, he can see loneliness. He sees sadness.

Before he can say something else about it though, she asks, "Was everything okay tonight?"

At first he thinks she means the sex, but then she adds, "When I opened the door, you seemed a little off. Like maybe you'd had a bad day at work or something."

"Oh. That." He considers how much to tell her. Most civilians don't want to know about their neighbors who died alone or the blood that's stained the pavement just outside their house.

"Work stuff," he says, opting for a vague, harmless version of the truth.

"Like a bad case?" she asks

"Yeah. Like a bad case."

She nods. "I'm sorry. But I am a little relieved, I admit. I was worried it was because of me, because of last night."

He searches her face. "Did you kick me out because of the whole not wanting to enjoy our sex thing?"

She glances away, and when she looks back, he gets the sense that it's her turn to hold the entire truth back. "Something like that."

His stomach rumbles loudly, as if to argue with the both of us. "Well, about that food," he says.

"Yeah," she responds. "Go. I'll be out in a few minutes."

He squeezes her thigh and then leaves her bedroom for the kitchen, not sure how to feel about anything that just happened. The only thing he's sure of is that a part of him—a big part of him—doesn't want to leave her alone on that bed. He wants to go back in there and settle next to her, have her head nestled in the crook of his arm while he runs his fingers along the lines of her belly and thighs.

"I have to admit, this isn't what I was expecting," Regina says, perched on a bar stool and examining the plate he just set in front of her on the counter.

"You weren't expecting me to cook?"

"You know, I am pretty sure I said delivery."

"But you also said that you wanted to make sure I wasn't a serial killer. I thought maybe making you Grandma Locksley's Irish breakfast for dinner would prove to you that I have a good, non-murdery heart."

Regina smiles down at her plate. Eggs and sausage and tomatoes and bacon. "I suppose a serial killer wouldn't make these raspberry scones from scratch."

"Or make sure you had real clotted cream to go with them," he says, delivering said cream to her in a small bowl. "And the scones are stupidly easy, for the record. Made them this morning before work before I knew I'd see you tonight. Plus Pop helped."

"Pop?"

"My grandpa." Then he adds, because she will need to know if they ever use his house as a space for impregnation, "And also my roommate."

She puts her hands together. "That's adorable."

"Sure," he says, bringing over a French press full of fresh coffee. It's a little late for caffeine, but he plans on keeping her up and sweating 'til past midnight at least, so it'll be fine.

"You're good in the kitchen," she says, curling her hands around the mug as he hands it to her.

"After Mom died, I kind of had to be. And Pop insists that a man should know how to make at least three different meals: one for a woman, one for family meals, and one for a church funeral potluck."

"Good philosophy. And stop with the dishes. I don't like it when people clean my house in front of me. It makes me feel guilty."

He thinks she's the sexiest, smartest woman he's ever known. He comes around the counter and pulls her into his arms, loving the way she wraps her legs around his waist as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

"I think you're too fucking perfect to go another moment without my face between your legs."

She flushes under his praise and laughs. "I thought I owed _you_ my mouth tonight, remember?"

He's already carrying her to the bedroom, his cock hardening like steel in his jeans.

"Don't worry, love. There's always tomorrow night."

Regina can still smell Robin on her sheets when she wakes up the next morning. Still feel his presence. She keeps her eyes closed and savors his scent, remembering the way he cooked her dinner and cleaned her kitchen. Remembering the tickle of his beard along her skin when his mouth was between her legs. Remembering all the dirty things he did before coming inside her for a second time last night.

The wonderful, amazing, dirty things.

She's come to terms with enjoying the sex, but that's only while they're having it. When he's gone, she shouldn't be thinking of him like this, but she can't help it. He's so vivid in his memory. So clear. His energy so warm and strong. It's almost like he never left. Almost like…

Wait.

She opens her eyes and sure enough, Robin is lying next to her, fully dressed, watching her sleep. Her heart trips a beat, but any thrill she feels is immediately wiped away with a rush of anxiety.

"Did you break in?"

His lip curls up in amusement. "No. I never left."

"That's worse."

"It was an accident," he says, as though he can read her mind. "You wore me out. I fell asleep."

"But you obviously already got up. You're dressed. You could have snuck out, and I would never have known." She throws her arm down and stares at him point blank. "Why didn't you do that? Why are you still here?"

"Because folic acid is important for women when they're trying to get pregnant," he says, as though that clears everything up.

"And?"

"And I noticed you didn't have any orange juice in your fridge. So, I wanted to be sure you got your folic acid."

"That sounds dirty when you say it," she says, resigned. Resigned to him being here and being hot and her being hornier than she wants to admit.

"Everything sounds dirty when I say it. Come on." He pulls the sheet off of her and swats her behind. "Get up. Get dressed."

"Why?" Regina groans. As long as he's here, they could get in another round of baby-making, but not if she's supposed to be getting dressed.

"Because you can't leave the house naked," he says, standing up. "I personally wouldn't have a problem with it, but I'd have to arrest you for public indecency, and though I want to see you in my cuffs, it's not going to be any fun if you're behind bars."

Goose bumps erupt along her skin at the mention of his cuffs, but she hugs herself, pretending it's because she's cold. "We're leaving the house together? Where are we going?"

He rolls his eyes in exaggerated annoyance. "To get some folic acid. Haven't you been paying attention to anything I've said?"

With a shake of her head, she climbs out of bed and shoos him out of her room so she can get ready. She puts her hair up in a messy bun and takes a quick shower then throws on a green cap-sleeve knit dress patterned with chemistry formulas.

When she comes out of the bedroom she smells coffee, and before she can ask, Robin hands her a travel mug with room for milk at the top.

"I didn't know how you took it," he says.

"Do you trust me driving you someplace?" he asks. "If you'd rather take your car and follow… But we aren't going far and that's kind of a drag."

"You can drive me. I trust you. Ish."

"Ish?"

"I trust-ish you. Ish. Just." She does trust him.

Less than ten minutes later, they're pulling into the driveway of a two-story house with yellow vinyl siding and an American flag mounted by the front door. The yard is landscaped simply but earnestly, and even though it's early spring, the lawn has been attended to. It's cute. Not too small. Exactly the kind of house she'd love to raise her kid in but could never afford on her current salary.

The problem is, she can't think of any good reason that Robin would bring her to someone's residence. Unless it's _his_ house.

He already has his door open, but she doesn't move. "Your house, Robin? Seriously?"

"Where did you think I was taking you?"

"I don't know. First Watch? IHOP? Starbucks?"

"My house is better than all of the above combined." He tugs on the sleeve of her dress. "Come on. I'll make you the best lemon brown sugar blueberry pancakes you've ever tasted. And, if you're good, I might even let you have some of my sausage."

"I sure hope that's not a euphemism because I'm not happy, and also, now I want sausage."

"What's so terrible about coming to my house?" he asks. Robin unlocks the door and holds it open for her.

"We're not dating. We're not supposed to be 'hanging out.' We're not supposed to be getting to know each other or spending time together. We're supposed to be banging and that's it."

It's then that she notices they aren't alone. There's an elderly man sitting with a laptop at the dining room table, which is clearly visible from the front door in the open-concept living space.

"Uh, hi," She says, wishing she was invisible. Or at least not so loud. "Sorry."

"Didn't hear a thing." He gives them a sidelong glance and then turns back to his screen. "I'm just _banging_ away on this stupid computer here, trying to figure out how the damn thing works."

His choice of words isn't an accident. He obviously heard her.

Regina exchanges looks with Robin. She's sure she's beet red. She wants to die.

" _I want to die."_

Laughing, he beckons her to the dining room. "Pop this is Regina. She works at the library with Belle. We're…" He looks at her, searching.

She doesn't say a thing. But she thinks several things in his direction. Things like, _Are you serious? You're the one who brought me here. You should have thought about what you were going to say before that you...you...hot cop._

"Friends," he finishes after a beat.

"Regina, this is my grandpa, Richard, but I promise he won't answer to anything other than Pop."

"Hi,"

"Nice to meet you, Regina." Pop studies her, and she studies him. He's leathery and wrinkled, but it's obvious he was very handsome when he was younger. He's still handsome now. His bone structure is exceptional and the deep creases by his mouth and eyes are the kind earned from a good-humored person.

It's obvious Robin comes from good genes. That he'll age well. Which she's glad to know.

For the baby, naturally.

Though it doesn't matter what his opinion is, she can't help but wonder what Pop sees looking at her.

"Robin doesn't usually bring his women home," he says after a moment. "You must be special."

"I'm not his woman."

"He doesn't bring friends either." His eyes twinkle in the same way that Robin's do, and his chest tightens at the old man's words.

Was Pop right? Was she special to Robin?

She glances over at the sexy man who is now wearing an apron that says _Kiss the Chef If You Can Handle the Heat_ and is currently gathering the items he needs for his pancake concoction.

"I'm making Regina breakfast," he says, pulling a carton of eggs and a carton of orange juice from the fridge. He sets the eggs on the counter then pours some juice into a glass before bringing it to her. "Behave yourself, Pop, and I'll make some pancakes for you too."

"Yeah, yeah," the old man grumbles and turns back to his computer.

Regina takes the folate-rich orange juice and thanks him. She doesn't want to know if she's special to him, she decides. It will only complicate things. But he's giving her things. He's giving her some fun and some folic acid, and most importantly, he's going to give her a baby. So, she lets herself start to get comfortable with the idea that he's always going to be special to her.

An hour later, she's finishing her third glass of orange juice and her second plate of pancakes. Between last night and today, Robin has proven he's a really good cook. Too many meals with him, and she'll have to double her twice-weekly Jazzercize class attendance.

Pop sits next to her, his laptop turned so they can both see the screen. "Now that I've saved the picture, how can I find it again?" he asks.

"Since you remembered to save it in the photos folder this time like I showed you, all you have to do is pull up your folders list, like this." Regina demonstrates for him. "And there it is. Double click on the thumbnail to open it."

Wanting to feel useful somewhere, she ended up helping Pop figure out a few things on his new computer. He's slow on the uptick, but not any less guidable than the teens she works with at the library.

"Hey," Robin says, taking her empty plate from her. "You're good with him. You should teach him how to use it for real. Give him some regular lessons."

"I'm sure I don't know anything more about computers than you do," she says, not wanting to hurt the old man's feelings with a simple _no_.

Robin doesn't seem to pick up on the reasons for her hesitation. "Yeah, but I have no patience for the man." He stacks his grandfather's plate on top of the others in his hand and takes them to the sink.

"Correction, son," Pop interjects. "I have no patience for _you_."

Regina coughs and covers her mouth to hide her laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Robin says rinsing the plates when the doorbell rings. Then rings again. And again. Then several more times.

"Shit!" Robin turns off the water and turns to face her. His face is pale and his eyes wide.

"What is it?" she asks.

"I knew nothing about this. I swear." He's apologetic and concerned.

"Knew nothing about what?"

Before he can answer, the front door opens, and Belle walks in with a tote bag over her shoulder, the kids in tow behind.

Here's no time to move though. No time to react. No time to do anything but stand there and wait for the disaster that's about to happen.

"The doorbell is not a toy," she says to Kevin. "You ring it once only. And we don't even have to ring the bell here because I have a key." She blazes through the living room toward them like she's on a mission. "Good morning, Pop! I have a ton of errands I'm running today and you're on the way to the dry cleaners so I brought some more Icy Hot patches for your knee and some of that Calms Forte you like to help you sleep better. It shouldn't make you too drowsy the next day. Robin can help you with the bottle if your arthritis is bothering you. Nice to see you, brother of mine, and. Oh."

She finally takes a breath. Finally sees Regina in the room. "Regina." She looks from her to Robin then back to Regina again. "Good morning."

"Uh, hi."

Kevin runs to Pop and pulls at his leg. "Ant Smasher. Ant Smasher."

The old man lifts the little boy up to his lap, and her heart melts imagining this exact thing but with Robin's child. "Nope, kid. Not on this machine. What we got on this beast? Solitaire, I think. Let's find out."

Pop pushes some buttons and whatever he manages to find, it seems to entertain the both of them.

With their attention occupied, Belle resumes darting her eyes back and forth between her and her sperm donor.

"So," she says after several seconds pass in silence. "Is someone going to fill me in?"

"There's nothing to fill," Regina says, then blushes because she's a bad liar and because Robin has been filling her quite well.

Apparently, he's also turned her into a pervert.

Belle narrows her eyes. "Are the two of you…?"

"No!" Robin and Regina say at once. Like that's not obvious.

"I'm helping Pop with his computer," Regina says in a rush, eager to make this situation seem anything other than what it is. Though, at this point, she's not sure _what_ it is. This morning's activities have had nothing at all to do with their contractual agreement.

"Ah. I see." Belle doesn't seem convinced, but she turns to her grandfather anyway, and says, "I told you Robert would help you with that, Pop."

"She's nicer than Robert," Pop says, nodding in her direction. "She's prettier than him, too." He winks as though he knows he's part of a cover-up.

And because she's completely fallen for this old man, Regina winks back.

Robin returns to loading the dishwasher. "Want some pancakes, Sis? I still have some batter left."

Yeah, that's good. Change the subject. Divert her attention from them with delicious food.

Belle doesn't fall for it. "I had a Slimfast. Thanks. Regina can I see you in the other room for a moment?" She turns and walks out of the dining room, not waiting to see if she'll follow.

Regina gives a final look to Robin who mouths, " _Good luck_ ," before she proceeds after his sister.

Belle hasn't gone far, only to the other side of the living room. But it's far enough that she's sure her brother can't hear her when she says quietly, "I haven't seen you since you and Robin went out together, and he's refused to tell me anything."

"That's...gentlemanly of him." It's nice to know he's kept his side of the bargain and not said anything.

Joey murmurs in his sleep as Belle shifts him to her other hip. "Then did something happen?"

She wants details. And she's her friend, so details would be fair, if she was into Robin for real.

But, she's not.

"Nothing happened on our date. I've sworn off men. Remember?"

"But you're here at our house for breakfast." She blinks and corrects herself. "His house." She corrects herself again. "Pop's house."

"I am." Regina takes a breath and attempts to paint a better picture. "It's no big deal. Robin offered me breakfast while I got to know your grandpa. To see if I thought I could help him."

"With his computer."

"Right." Regina sighs. "I know it seems weird, but this isn't anything. Really. One date with your brother didn't change my life plans." And that _is_ the truth. She still wants her baby. She's still on track for that and nothing else.

"I'm sure he's dismayed about that."

"Yes. He is. Poor guy. I think he really has a thing for me. I felt bad. It's why I said I'd help out your Pop."

Belle shakes her head. "You and your bleeding heart. It's going to get you in a mess one day, Regina."

"Probably sooner than later," she mumbles more to herself than her.

"Oh, while I have you…" She puts her hand on Regina's upper arm. "I'm supposed to go to a wet lab at the police academy Friday after next, but Robert has a department dinner that we need to go to. Want to take my place?"

"What's a wet lab?"

She drops her arm so she can hold her toddler with both arms. "It's this thing where the academy pays for volunteers to get drunk so that the recruits can practice field sobriety tests on actual drunk people. I've been doing it since Robin was in the academy himself. Anyway, it's fun. Free booze!"

Regina hesitates because that's two weeks away, and she could be pregnant by then. "I don't know…"

"Come on," she says. "How can you turn down free alcohol?"

"I'm sort of going easy on the drinking."

"Why? You pregnant or something?" she laughs.

Regina nearly chokes. "What?"

"I'm kidding. I just couldn't think of any other reason to be sober on a Friday when I didn't have to deal with my kids."

"Oh. Haha." But it's too close to the truth. "Email me the information. I'll go." Maybe.

"Everything good out here?" Robin asks, coming into the living room.

"Yep!" Belle says with her extroverted gusto. "But I've got to be going. We have a to-do list a million miles long. Kevin, put Pop's cane back where you found it. It's not a light saber."

Regina says goodbye to her friend, and then while she's herding her son out the door, she slips off down the hallway in search of a bathroom. The house is small, and she finds what she's looking for on the first try. She's curious, and the door is already half open so she takes the liberty of pushing it open all the way.

The thing that had caught her eye? It's a giant poster of Jessica Alba in a stripper's outfit from the movie _Sin City._

"Oh my God." Regina says it to herself, but it's out loud.

"Don't go in there!" Robin shouts in a panic running toward her.

But it's too late. She's already seen what he doesn't want her to see. There's a poster for the movie _Gladiator_ and another for the original _X-Men_. The bookshelf has a shelf dedicated to Avengers comic book memorabilia. Next to it is a student desk—the kind you buy from Target and put together yourself—and above that is a corkboard with photographs and concert tickets hung up with pushpins. There are also more pictures of scantily clad women, though nothing as in-your-face as Jessica, who seems to be the focal point.

This is a teenager's room. A teenage _boy_ 's room.

"It's not what it looks like," Robin says, now at her side.

"This is your room, isn't it?" She asks. It's him as much as the tattoo he wears on his arm.

"Look," Robin says. "Be fair. I was a kid when I put most of this stuff up."

"Most?"

"All," he corrects hastily. "All of this stuff."

"And you're thirty-three and just haven't gotten around to taking any of it down yet."

He throws his head back in frustration. "It's been like this since I moved out for college. Okay? Pop wasn't concerned about redecorating, and I didn't have any reason to come back and do it, so it's been a sort of museum of my teenage years. I only moved back in about a month ago when Pop had his knee surgery, and no, I haven't gotten around to taking any of it down yet. But I'm planning to. Soon."

"Right."

"I actually tried to convince Pop to take my room so he wouldn't have to deal with the stairs, but he's too proud and stubborn."

"Or maybe he likes his bedroom. Maybe it has memories for him just like yours has for you."

She can feel his eyes on her as she wanders over to the corkboard. The photographs pinned here seem to be from various occasions in his life. In some he's a teenager. He's thinner and beardless, but still attractive. Still as cocky, if she's interpreting his expressions correctly.

In others, he's younger, and she wouldn't recognize him if it weren't for his smirk and eyes.

Then there are pictures of family.

"Is this is your mother?"

Robin moves up next to her, presumably to see what she's looking at. "Yeah. That was not too long before she died."

"And after she died you moved in here?"

He nods. "Dad was killed in a car accident when Belle was just a baby. I don't even remember him. So when Mom died, Gran and Pop took us in."

"When did your Gran pass?"

"A few years ago. That's her with Kevin." He points to a photo of an elderly lady with Robin's chin holding a newborn baby. There's something so sweet about it, something so honest, it makes her chest pinch, and she has to look away.

She finds a picture where teenage Robin has his arm around a blonde with her hair in retro cinnamon buns, Gwen Stefani style circa 2001. "Is this your high school girlfriend?"

"One of them. You jealous?"

"No!" She's a little bit jealous. Which is stupid.

But she remembers being that age. She still believed in relationships back then. Still believed in happily ever afters. What would it have been like for them if she'd met him back then?

Butterflies stir in her stomach, the kind that have less to do with lust than they do with infatuation. They haven't stirred in so long she barely recognizes the feeling.

"Did you ever bring girls back here?" She asks, broaching dangerous territory. She's thinking dangerous thoughts. Having dangerous fantasies. Wanting dangerous things.

"Never," he says earnestly.

"Yeah, I don't believe you."

"I'm dead serious. Pop has a shotgun. He was always threatening to shoot my dick off if I knocked a girl up. Scared the shit out of me."

Regina laughs nervously, keeping her eyes on the movies. "And here you are trying to knock a girl up now. You must have gotten over your fear."

"Pop has arthritis. He'd have too much trouble loading the gun." There's a soft thud of a door closing, and she looks up to see that he has shut them in. "And I have always regretted the lack of action this room has seen."

Her heart rate picks up, and immediately, her panties are soaked. She's already half fantasizing about what it would have been like to be his teenage girlfriend. Sneaking around, fumbling and fucking behind her mother's back, convinced that they are meant to be forever.

But all this is wrong. The fantasy, the location. The motivation.

"Robin." She shakes her head, insistently. "No. We can't."

"We can. We should." His eyes darken, and he starts for her.

Facing him, she backs away. "Your grandfather's just in the other room!"

"He's taking his morning nap."

Her backside meets the desk behind her. She's trapped. She has nowhere to go. A thrill runs through her body.

With a sext grin, Robin moves in until he's nearly pressed against her.

"What if we wake him up?" she asks, already breathless.

"He has his hearing aids out. He can't hear shit." Robin pushes up her dress and rolls his thumbs over her clit through her panties.

"I mean. I guess this is still within the window of ovulation."

"Exactly why we should," he agrees.

But, really, she's barely thinking about her fertility cycle. It's just an excuse to play out this fantasy of hers. A fantasy that's for her alone. She's not willing to share it, not even with Robin.

She bites her lower lip when she notices the outline of his cock, pushing thick and large against his jeans.

He follows he gaze. "See how hard I am for you, love."

"Uh-huh." she shudders as he presses harder against her nub.

He bends down so his mouth is near her ear and whispers, "There might be a baby in there right now, just waiting to be made. All it needs is you. With your legs spread, waiting for me to cum deep inside you."

 _Fuck._ She's done for.

Fingers shaking with anticipation, she starts working the button of his jeans.

"Turn around," he commands, urgently, before she's gotten his pants unzipped.

She turns and gathers her dress around her waist and holds it in place with her elbows. Then she lays her palms flat on the desk, bracing herself for what she knows is coming. Like she imagines he does with the people he arrests, Robin kicks his feet apart, spreading her as much as he needs. Then he moves in closer behind her. He's so frantic, he doesn't even pull her panties down. He just pulls them to the side to make room for his cock.

She's so wet, he slides right in.

"If I'd have known you when I was a teen, I'd have beaten myself raw," he says, pumping into her with vigor. "I'd have imagined fucking you just like this."

"Keep talking," She pants.

"Oh, you like that, do you? I knew my librarian was a naughty girl." He slows down ever so slightly so he can snake an arm around her and up her dress. He tugs the cup of her bra down and releases her tit from captivity and squeezes. "Teenage Robin would've had to have you. He'd have done all sorts of nasty things to you in the back seat of his car."

Even as she's gasping from pleasure, she giggles at the image of Robin in what was likely his first car. Damn, she would have loved to have done that too. Sneaking around without her mother knowing. Getting fingered in his car when they're supposed to be at the library or the school play or the game.

"For you, I would have found a way to bring you back to my room instead," he says. God, he's so there with her, putting all her naughty thoughts into words. "Fuck Pop and his gun. I would have told him that I was helping you with your physics homework. And then I would have fucked you against this very desk."

She closes her eyes and moans, picturing their open textbooks falling to the floor as he pounded into her from behind. Her belly starts to tighten and pull. She's so turned on, she's already feeling the crest of her climax approaching.

"But Teenage Robin wasn't the Sex God he is now. I'd have to ask you what you wanted. You'd have to tell me how to touch you." Pinching her nipple, he brings his other hand to brush along the skin of her slit. "Right here, love? Like this?"

"Yes," she whimpers. "More. There." She can't talk in multi-syllabic words.

"Show me, baby."

Without thinking about it too hard—if she does, she'll get too timid—she takes one hand off the desk and brings it over his so she can lead his finger between her folds to find her clit. Then, directing his pressure, they rub her to orgasm.

As soon as she climaxes, he focuses on pursuit of his own climax, squeezing her breast and rutting into her wildly as he praises and adores her. "Jesus, Regina. You're so sexy. So tight. So gorgeous. Right there. Right there. I'm gonna come, love. I'm gonna come."

He stills, bursting inside her, and she wonders as he grunts and relaxes behind her, if they were both young and stupid, would she have hoped he'd be filling her with a baby then, too? The way that teens in lust-that-they-think-is-love often do? Not to trap him, but to solidify what they had. To hold onto it for as long as possible. She almost wishes they really were that age, just so she could feel that way about him and not worry about the things she knows now about love and relationships and men who don't stick around.

"I'll say it again, Regina" Robin says, kissing the back of her neck before pulling out. "You're fun."

She simply smiles and puts her dress back in order while she scans the photographs in front of her a final time. "It's kind of a shame all of this is going to come down. It gives a pretty vivid picture of your youth." She's committed as much as she can to memory, though. Recording what might be useful when she's raising his offspring—no other reason.

Robin buttons his jeans and glances around the room. "Well. Not all of it is coming down. Jessica will stay."

"Oh right," she chuckles. "Of course."

She finds it odd, but she wishes she was Jessica, so she could stay in his room.

 _ **Stairwell at the library.**_

She hits SAVE on the entry she's just added to yesterday's date in her Google Calendar. Then, after thinking about it a second, she clicks the entry again and hits "edit." In the notes section she adds one word: _**Twice**_ _._

She hits the button so that the whole month is viewable. Counts the dates they have had sex.

Holy shit.

That's eleven times that Robin and her have had sex in the last two weeks! That's a fuck lot of fucking. And that isn't counting extra for the entries that have notes like yesterday's stairwell incident.

 _Mmm. The stairwell._

Her toes curl just thinking about the way she had to clutch onto the railing so that she wouldn't collapse from the punishing sequence of orgasms he delivered.

Yeah. The stairwell was nice.

It's really probably not an entry she should include on the calendar. She's well past her fertile period, and her "meetings" with Robin are now primarily about keeping him satisfied—the man has a voracious appetite. But she included a couple of the times right after she was ovulating, in case she has her dates wrong. Once she decided to include those, she didn't know where to draw the line, so she's continued recording them all.

She figures it's better to have more data than not. That way she'll be able to accurately quantify the sacrifices she made in order to get pregnant. She chuckles at the thought. As if having sex with Robin could ever be considered a sacrifice. Her humor quickly fades as she realizes something else from looking at her calendar—her thirtieth birthday is even closer than it was a month ago.

Funny how that happens.

The familiar dread and death thoughts settle over her, making her feel antsy and anxious. Her legs ache. Her back aches. Her breasts ache. Death is near.

Maybe she's just fussy because she's pregnant.

Or it's PMS.

And if it's PMS, why the fuck is she not pregnant yet? After eleven times with Robin's so-called super sperm, surely she should be knocked up by now. Is it her that's the problem? Can she not get pregnant the natural way? Will she need infertility treatments to get her baby?

She'll have to get a second job for that. A third job.

Which wouldn't leave any time for the actual banging. Of course, if she was pregnant, there won't be any purpose for banging. She throws her head back and groans. She wants a baby, and the sooner the better. But the idea of no more sex with Robin is so horrible, it makes her want to puke.

Wait.

Does she actually _need_ to puke? She sits back upright and concentrates on the way her body feels. Is she nauseated? Is this morning...er—she looks at the time— _early evening_ sickness?

Maybe she should take another test. Yes, she's taken five already this week (one just this morning), and all of them have been negative. But her period isn't actually due until tomorrow so maybe it was still too early. And twelve hours could make a big difference in hormone production. Probably.

Before she's made up her mind about whether she wants to use—and possibly waste—another pregnancy test, the phone rings.

"Who the hell calls!" She groans at the interruption. But her annoyance dissipates when she sees Robin's name on her screen. Well, not his name, exactly. He's listed as "Officer Hottie" in her phone. Naturally.

"I was just thinking about you," Regina says, in lieu of hello.

It hasn't slipped her attention that Robin is the only person in her life that she doesn't harass about calling her. He doesn't do it that often. Most of their communication is via text, as all communication with decent people should be. But sometimes, when he's driving or working out or he needs a quick answer to something, he rings her up instead.

And she's decided that's fine. It's a temporary relationship, anyway, and the calling thing has been...useful.

"No wonder you sound so happy." His voice alone gets her body reacting. Her heart races and the blood starts flowing to her lower regions.

Not that she'd ever admit it.

"Actually, I'm moody today. And my breasts are tender to the touch. It's either PMS or I'm pregnant. No period yet, but the symptoms, it turns out, are pretty much the same as being knocked up. How the hell am I supposed to know the difference? How did anyone ever stand the waiting in the old days?"

"I'm sorry. You said something about touching your breasts, and I missed everything you said after that. Did you say you're _not_ having your period?"

Normally this would elicit a laugh, but like she said, she's moody. "No. I'm not. Jerk."

"Good. I need you."

"You _need_ me?"

"I'm outside your door in three, two…"

Her doorbell rings. Shaking her head, she clicks END on the phone call and jumps up to let him in. After a couple of steps, she turns back to shut her laptop. Robin doesn't need to see her tracking notes. Then she runs to answer the door.

"You need me again already?" she says, when she sees him face to face. Looking him over, it appears he's just come from the gym. He's carrying a duffle bag, dressed in sweatpants and a poly-blend shirt that appears to be the type designed to stay dry. His body's drenched from his workout, and it reminds her so much of the times she's lying underneath him that her stomach clenches in automatic response.

"Hello to you too, love."

He waggles his brows as his eyes wander to her chest, and after she shuts the door she confronts him. "You're checking out my boobs, aren't you?"

Robin shrugs. "You said they were tender. I was just trying to decide if they looked bigger."

 _Bigger_ could mean pregnant. Her enthusiasm kindled, she thrusts her bosom out for his inspection. "Well?"

He studies her more overtly, hovering his hands above her tits as though trying to compare size. "I think I need more input," he says. "I need to feel them a bit. Caress them. Maybe see how they fit in my mouth."

She presses her back against the closed door and heaves out a dramatic sigh. "We just banged yesterday." She teases him.

Robin closes in on her, resting his hands on her hips. "We totally did. When your boss walked out, and I had to put my hand over your mouth and pull you behind the stairs so she wouldn't catch us?"

"Yeah?"

"That was really hot."

"It was. I thought it would hold you over for a while. You are quite insatiable."

"Are you complaining?"

"I'm simply stating an observation."

Robin pulls back as though he might leave. "I can go find someone else to take care of me if you're willing to amend the arrangement."

Her chest twists unexpectedly.

"Really?" She can't tell if he's serious or teasing.

He shrugs non-committedly. "If that's what you want."

"It's not. I'm not amending the arrangement. And I'm not complaining."

"That's what I thought." He grins and moves in again.

Until she halts him with her palms. "But you're all sweaty and gross. Take a shower first."

"I'll hit the shower first."

"Yeah, good idea."

He picks up the duffle he brought in and slips off to her bedroom to use the en-suite shower. She watches him leave because he has a nice backside. Even nicer in those sweats.

Once he's out of sight, she throws her head back and knocks it three times against the door. Then, rubbing her head.

What the hell is wrong with her?

She's glad Robin is here. She was excited the minute she saw his name on her caller display, and despite her fussing, she's horny for him too. She actually always get hornier when she's premenstrual, so maybe she is about to bleed.

Of course she's read that can be a symptom of pregnancy too.

Especially if it's only sexually, because that's the only way it will ever be okay to care about him. And it's the only way it will ever be okay to let him care about her.

With that realization, she's suddenly desperate to be with him.

She runs to the bathroom where he's still showering. He's left the door open, so the steam hasn't fogged up the room, and she can see him distinctly through the clear glass wall of her walk-in shower. He must hear her because he turns toward her when she comes in.

"Almost done here, babe," he says, soap lathered on his chest and torso.

But she didn't come in to rush him. She came to join him.

His eyes are still watching her as she pulls her _When in Doubt, Go to the Library_ T-shirt over her head and lets it fall to the ground. She took off her bra when she got home from work and changed into loungewear so her breasts are now exposed and Robin's eyes widen greedily at the sight. His hand moves down to tug on his cock, which is quickly hardening in front of her.

She considers making the rest of her strip routine more of a tease, but she's too eager to be with him. Too eager to touch him. Hurriedly, she pulls down her leggings and panties together and kicks them aside. Then she walks around the wall and into the shower to join him.

"Regina, you've just made me a very happy man," he says, turning his back to the spray so he can face her. He pulls again on his erection, which is now rock hard, and her mouth waters. She plans to take care of that. Soon.

But first…

Besides the texts setting up locations and meet-up times, she hasn't ever been the one to initiate sex, and honestly, she's not sure what she's doing. She's let Robin do all the guiding.

Fortunately, her confidence doesn't let her down. She knows what she wants, and that's what she goes after. She walks to him, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him. For half a second, Robin seems stunned. She moves her mouth against his, and he's frozen, his body still as though he's afraid if he moves, the moment will be broken. Then suddenly he wakes up. He enfolds her in his arms, pulling her against his slick body. Their lips tangle and their tongues explore, and it's not unlike their first kiss where they were frenzied and urgent.

But this is also entirely new. It's bold and brave and sure.

It's familiar, too. And personal. And exactly all the things she'd feared kissing could be with him, and why she hadn't wanted to ever kiss him again. Her chest tingles and expands. She feels dizzy, and closer to Robin than she's ever felt before.

And that terrifies her. In all the best and worst ways.

But it doesn't matter anymore that kissing feels too intimate or too scary. The fear of intimacy was that it would lead to growing attached. And dammit, she's already attached. She realizes that now. This is already going to sting when it's over. There's no stopping that. So she might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

The water continues to fall down his backside. Rivulets escape down his front, and she leaves his mouth to follow one with her tongue as it weaves down his torso. The journey brings Regina to her knees, face-to-face with the "other Officer Locksley." They've become good friends the last two weeks, his cock and her. Furtively, she peeks up at Robin. He'd been reluctant to let her break their kiss, but now his eyes are dark as he watches her lips hover above his crown.

"I want to see you put it in your mouth," he tells her. "Can you do that for me, love?"

She nods, but all she does is lick the water drops off the circumference of his head, like it's an ice cream cone that she doesn't want to drip. She glances back up at him.

"That's not going to cut it, babe," he tells her, bucking his hips toward her.

Giggling, she sucks the tiniest bit of the tip into her mouth, enjoying the way his legs shake and his belly trembles with his groan.

"Fuck. Regina." His hands tangle in her hair, and she can tell he's trying to resist directing her, and maybe she should be glad about that, but the thing is, as much as she wanted to put her mouth on him—as much as this was her idea—she doesn't know what she's doing. Not only has it been several years since she'd given a blow job, but she's maybe never given a fabulous blow job. And just like teenage Robin who didn't know how to touch a woman, she doesn't know how to suck this grown man.

She wants him to show her what to do, but she doesn't want to ask outright. She wraps her hands around his thighs, takes his head into her mouth then lets it fall out again before she stares up at him coyly. "Like this?"

"Take it all the way, love. You can do it."

She draws her lips over him too slowly. She doesn't take him deep enough.

Again, he bucks, driving his cock in farther.

"Mmm." Her lips vibrate over his length, and he groans in response.

"More of that, Regina." He threads his fingers tighter against her scalp and she relaxes her neck muscles, hoping he'll take over. Her stomach twists in anticipation. "More," he says again, rocking his pelvis back and forth in a gentle rhythm. "Flatten your tongue."

She flattens her tongue, looking up to find his eyes are closed and, from his expression, she'd guess his restraint is threadbare. She pulls her head back and takes him in, once more too slowly. He pushes her head this time, forcing her to take more of him. She presses her lips tighter around him, rewarding his dominant behavior. It seems to work, because he grunts and pulls her head back before pushing her down on him again.

She digs her nails into his thighs. They're working at his tempo now, Robin fucking her mouth at the depth and speed he likes best. She's taking notes. Remembering exactly how far he likes to be sucked in and how he likes her tongue and how he likes it when she moans against him. It's so fucking hot. If she weren't so mesmerized by watching him, she'd reach down and rub herself, but this is about him. She wants it to be about him. Because she doesn't know how much longer she'll have him.

Robin's leg muscles harden, and his balls start to draw up. He's close, and she readies herself to take all he has to give. All the times he's emptied himself into her for her benefit, she's happy to swallow it all now for him.

But just as she thinks he's going to come, he pushes her off of him and pulls Regina to her feet.

"What are you doing? I would have—"

He doesn't let her finish telling her what she would have done because he captures her mouth with his in a deep searing kiss. He turns her and presses her back against the wall. "I don't want to come in your mouth," he says. "I'd rather have my tongue in your mouth while I'm coming in you."

She doesn't argue because that does sound nice. Besides, he's kissing her again and his mouth is preoccupied with better things than talking. He lifts her up so she's at the right height and she wraps her legs around him, inviting him in.

He buries himself inside her, with one plunging thrust. Then he doesn't move, he just stays nestled in her, as though he's anchored himself to shore, while he kisses her and kisses her. In all the ways she'd imagine that he's always wanted to kiss her. In all the ways she's always wanted to be kissed by him.

When he starts to stir, he moves leisurely at first, until neither of them can take it and they're both arching and bucking, trying to get deeper and deeper, trying to get "there" and everywhere and then they're coming, both of them together. Quaking like they're two rocks compressing against each other on a fault line under the surface of the earth.

They make small talk while they dry off. Decide what they'll have for dinner. Talk about the size of her breasts, which they decide are probably about the same size as always. They don't talk about the rest. About the kissing or that she initiated, or that this time, more than any other time, was less about contracts or babies or getting off than ever before, because she doesn't know if there are words for what it really was. It was more than just sex, and she can't pretend it was only for Robin.

Her libido wouldn't mind if this month ends up with no viable bun in the oven. Denying it is pointless.

But she's praying that the kisses they shared tonight were the last. She's not sure her heart can take much more time together than it already has.

"If you don't stop checking that thing, I'm going to throw it out the window," Killian warns.

Robin puts the phone away with an exaggerated sigh and then turns. They're driving in his patrol car. "Can't you conduct your one-man dating service when you're off duty?"

"I feel like 'duty' is a strong word for this afternoon, Killian."

"Well, yeah."

With their captain's permission, they are heading down to the regional police academy for an hour or two, both to watch a wet lab in progress and to talk to the administrators to hammer out the logistics for hosting one. Even though their city is fairly quiet and mostly residential, a few trendy new restaurants in the heart of town have meant an uptick in drunk driving, and their captain thinks most of the officers could use a refresher course in sobriety testing.

So we're looking into the possibility of hosting a wet lab of our own, yes, but also it means an afternoon of watching rookie cops and drunk people—two of the funniest groups to watch on the planet. It'll be a nice break from the calls about nursing home escapes and rich teens shoplifting.

Robin checks his phone again. Regina hasn't texted him today, and normally he wouldn't be shy about texting or calling her himself, except it seemed really important that he let her text first today...for some reason. The problem is that he told himself to give her space before she stepped into the shower with him, and now all he can remember is kissing her.

Fuck, that kiss. _That kiss_. Her mouth so eager and soft under his own, the warm spray of the water at his back, and the steam curling around their ankles…

The damp hair clinging to her temples as she wrapped her legs around his waist and fucked her against the wall…. Her soft cry as she came, echoing off the bathroom tile and sending bolts of possessive lust straight down to his groin...

Robin shifts in his seat, his cock pushing against his pants. He'd said that thing yesterday about finding another woman to take care of him mostly to tease her, but partly out of embarrassment at his own need to fuck her _all the time_. He's never needed to fuck someone like this—insatiably, constantly. It's driving him crazy.

Why hasn't she texted him yet? He checks his phone again.

"Robin!" Killian barks. "Stop with the phone! How many different women do you need to talk to in a day anyway?"

"It's actually just one. The same one for almost a month actually."

"It's a librarian. She works with my sister."

"A librarian," Killian repeats, as if he just told him he's been sleeping with an alien. "You...and a librarian?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just that normally you seemed to go for the women more like you."

"More like me?"

"Do you really want me to elaborate?"

"Is it going to be mean?"

"Robin, face it. You're the stereotype of a bachelor cop, and the women you sleep with are the stereotypes of women who like bachelor cops. I just don't want you to wreak havoc on some poor woman's life because you're bored or you're dying—"

"I'm not dying!" he protests.

"You're over thirty, aren't you?"

"If one more person says that—"

"Just don't be a dick, okay? Especially to some sweet librarian. They deserve better than that. Now if you want to go ruin the life of someone down at the post office, be my guest. You know the last time I had to mail a blood kit up to Topeka, they actually _refused_ to—"

But Robin never did hear what the post office refused because they turn a corner into the room they're using for the lab, and he sees a flash of dark hair and hears the lilting alto of a familiar laugh and stops. Right in his tracks. Because he can't move. Can't think. Can't breathe.

Regina is here.

Regina is not supposed to be here, and he has no idea why she is, but she is indisputably here at this wet lab, in this room, with him and twelve drunk civilians.

He wants to protect her.

He'd finally earned her mouth, the kiss he'd been dreaming of, and he has to admit, he's a little proud of _him_ for doing that.

She's here, even though he has no idea why, but now it's okay that she hasn't texted. Just seeing her makes his chest feel light, and so it's with nothing but happy anticipation that he walks up to her and give the knot on her head a gentle tug.

"You come to this bar often?" Robin jokes.

She turns at the sound of his voice and the feel of her hand in her hair, and stands up. And for a minute he thinks she's going to give him another kiss, and he wouldn't mind one bit. Technically, it probably would be against some policy or another, but the wet lab volunteers are almost always former cops or family and friends of cops, and so there's usually some informality going on.

He grins down at her, and then she growls at him. Like...actually _growls._

She takes a step forward and sticks a finger in his face. He catches a strong whiff of alcohol. " _You_. You are the last person I want to see."

"Did I...miss something?" He racks his brain, trying to think of anything that could have gone wrong between yesterday and today, because the last time they were together, she was limp and boneless with sweaty, wet ecstasy.

"You did miss something, Robin, but I didn't."

"I…" He has no idea what she means.

And then she pokes his chest with a frowny pout, a puzzled little line between her eyebrows. She pokes harder, her finger pressing into the stiff wall of the Kevlar he wears under his uniform. "Why are you so hard?" she complains.

He refrains from making the obvious joke and answers as seriously as he can. "It's body armor, babe. It's supposed to be hard."

"I want you to be soft," she whines.

"Well," he says, "nothing's soft around you, doll."

Suddenly another finger in his chest. " _No_ ," she says angrily. "You don't get to be all flirty with me, not today. Not after what you did."

"What did I do?"

"You _lied_ , Mr. Officer Blue Eyes. You _lied to me._ "

"Mr. Officer Blue Eyes?" he asks.

"How many drinks have you had today, Regina?"

She shakes her head. "Nuh-uh. This is not about me being a tiny, miniscule amount of tipsy." Her normally precise voice stumbles over the word _miniscule_. "This is about you _lying_ about your super sperm!"

Well. Everyone is certainly staring at them now.

He takes Regina's elbow and guides her into a corner of the room, deciding that sober Regina probably wouldn't want to rant about sperm in front of a room of strangers.

Once they get into the corner, Regina turns to him. "You said you had super sperm," she continues in a whispered hiss. "And you _don't_. You have the opposite of super sperm! You have _un_ super sperm, you have microsperm, you have…"

"Now, let's not say things we're going to regret in the heat of the moment."

She growls again.

"And baby, you barely know my body at all if you think my sperm is unsuper."

"I do know your body, and I know about your giant, awesome cock—"

"Okay, well maybe you know my body a little bit—"

"—and you were supposed to get me pregnant and you didn't." Her eyes get glossy and her chin has the faintest tremble in it. And for some reason, seeing her chin quiver is like being punched in the chest. He can't stand it.

He's already pulling her into his arms when she manages in a teary whisper, "I got my period this morning. I'm not pregnant."

"Oh, Regina," he says cradling her tight to his chest. "Oh, love." He's sad for her, but he also finds that he's somewhat relieved in the fact that she's not pregnant yet. And that he'll have more time with her.

"I'm okay," she mumbles. "I'm done crying about it. Maybe they have more vodka...these cramps are killing me."

"I know another way to help those cramps, darling," he says, leaning in close. "You let the nice policeman help you release some tension, hmm?"

She bites her lip, staring at his mouth. "But it's...you know. All sorts of stuff going on down there."

The hungry look in her eyes has him heating up. They're already in a corner, and so it only takes a couple steps to get her backed against a wall, his hands braced on either side of her so she can't move. "I'm not scared of all sorts of stuff," he says in a low voice. "Just let me get two fingers inside your panties, and I guarantee I can make you feel much, much better…"

Regina's breathing fast now, her pupils growing wide and color rising to her cheeks. The door opens and the rookies shuffle into the room with all the nervous, hesitant energy rookies have. He steps back from Regina right as the lead instructor tells the recruits to circulate through the room to practice the field sobriety tests on the various volunteers.

"Ready?" Robin asks Regina.

She glances down at his hand—no, his _fingers_ —and blushes even deeper.

"For the sobriety tests," he clarifies, with a smirk.

"Here's a good one," Robin announces, as they shyly come forward. He looks at the awkward cluster of them, too tight ponytails on the women, acne still on the faces of some of the men. They're all holding tiny notebooks and pens and they're practically shaking at the prospect of having to do actual police work on actual people. God, it's like they get younger and younger every year.

"Now, this lady is pretty drunk," Robin begins.

"I am not!" Regina protests from behind him.

"And she's getting belligerent. You'll get those from time to time. The secret to handling a drunk is: _ask, tell, make_. Let me demonstrate." He turns to Regina, who currently has her arms folded tightly over her chest and her body leaned against the wall. "Ma'am, I'm going to run you through our field sobriety tests. Will you step away from the wall, please?"

Regina glances warily from me to the recruits, and he can tell she's weighing her options. After all, she came here to act as the drunk guinea pig for the rookies...but she didn't come here to get teased by him. "You come over to me," she says finally. "I'm not moving."

"Ah, see?" Robin tells the recruits. "Now we will make a demand. Ma'am, step away from the wall."

This fires Regina right back up. "I don't have to do anything you say," she pronounces with great poise. "Because of the Fourth Amendment."

"Many drunks are also amateur constitutional scholars," he says as he takes a step towards Regina. "Unfortunately for our drunk tonight, I can verify certain physical cues—like the smell of spilled vodka—that give me legal cause to detain her while I investigate criminal activity. And also we can't do the sobriety tests while she's against a wall."

Regina sidles to the side as he approaches. "So I suppose you're going to try to make me now?" she says, trying for haughty decorum and failing.

"Yep," he says. And then in a lower voice, he adds, "It's all pretend, love. I wouldn't do what I'm about to do next in real life."

She seems relieved for about half a second, then her eyes widen. "Wait, what—"

But he already has her hoisted over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, her pert jean-clad ass up in the air and her scrumptious thighs clasped tight under his arm.

She starts hammering my back with her small fists. "Put me down!"

The rookies are giggling quietly as he drops her onto a nearby table and steps back. She sways, closing her eyes, like she's dizzy.

"Now, in real life, you probably wouldn't physically carry a drunk somewhere, and you might also want to give them more chances to comply. But it's my experience that drunks are a lot like toddlers—life's going to be easier for everyone involved if you don't expect them to think and behave like rational adults."

He faces Regina again and asks, "How much have you had to drink today, ma'am?"

She still looks a little off-balance from her trip. "Um. Three or four in the last two hours?"

He pulls out his penlight and shines it in her eyes. She blinks, and then sticks out her tongue at him.

"See?" he says, shaking his head. "Belligerent."

He shows the recruits how her pupils are dilated.

"Excuse me," she mumbles and pushes out of the room. He follows Regina out, turning the corner where he sees her going to the water fountain.

It's his turn to lean against the wall. With both hands on his belt, he watches as Regina bends at the waist to get a drink of water. God, that ass. He needs to have it in his hands.

She straightens up and catches sight of him. "Officer."

"Drunk lady."

She gives him an appraising look up and down—it's equal parts hunger and something else. Respect, maybe. "You know a lot of things about your job," she concedes as he un-leans himself and walks towards her.

"I'm glad you think so, love."

She sighs. "And about next month…"

"Before you get started about next month," he murmurs, taking another step and pushing her against the bathroom door. "I believe I was going to help you with something."

"You were?"

He reaches around her and twists the knob of the bathroom door, pushing her inside and turning her body all in one smooth motion, so that by the time the automatic lights kick on, he's got her front pressed against the cinderblock wall and his hands on her wrists, moving them high above her head.

"Robin…" she breathes.

Yes. Yes, this is what he wanted. To have her melt for him, to have her addicted to him.

"Do you want to play pretend again?" He asks in her ear. Without waiting for a response, he kicks her legs apart, which sends her ass back into him groin. She gasps at the contact, then moans as his hand slides down from her wrist to her waist and reaches under her shirt.

"What are we pretending?" she manages.

"How about you're a tipsy librarian and I'm the bad police officer who's going to detain you with two fingers."

"What do you mean _with two fing_ —oh, holy shit." Her head drops back against his shoulder as he unzips her jeans and strokes the rise of her pubic bone through her silk panties. "Robin, you shouldn't…" She doesn't sound like he shouldn't though. She sounds very much like he should.

"You can invoke your Fourth Amendment rights any time, love," He whispers, finding the plump button of her clit and then skating his middle finger over it.

She shivers and shakes her head. "I won't," she promises.

"Good girl," he murmurs, pressing down and beginning to circle her clit in earnest. His other hand reaches for her other wrist so that he has both her wrists gathered in his hand, and he keeps her that way for him—stretched and spread while he does his work. Pinned and at his mercy. She lets out a long moan as he slows down his rhythm to a get the right amount of pressure for her. "That's it. Let me make you feel good."

He drops his hand to get under her shirt and palm her tits, squeezing and fondling and kneading as he continues to rub her through her panties. Impatient with the silk, he slides under the panties altogether and resume his work, this time with his fingertips directly against her swollen flesh.

"You shouldn't," she moans again.

"I told you I don't mind this stuff," he says, nipping at her earlobe. And he really doesn't, but he doesn't go lower than her clit because he doesn't want to push her boundaries, at least not now. Not when he needs to convince her to give her and his super sperm another chance. So he instead focuses on making her come, on making her feel the full height and strength of his body as he presses against her.

"As soon as you're ready," He promises, "I'm going to fuck you until you're pregnant. I'm going to rut inside you until you're growing my baby. Got it?"

"Got it," she whimpers, squirming under his touch. She's close, so close, and so is he, even trapped in his uniform pants. He rubs a little faster, a little meaner, almost like he is the bad cop who's taking advantage of her, like this is all for him and not for her. It seems to turn her on, his fake-meanness, and she is panting and writhing and her hands are scrabbling at the wall.

Then he feels the first shudder of her orgasm as she trembles against him. She gasps his name as she falls over the edge, a sharp exhale like she's been struck. " _Robin."_

It almost does him in, hearing that, seeing her writhe and squirm with his hand down her panties and her arms up on the wall. God, she's so fucking hot like this. Quivering and wild. He presses her completely against the wall as she continues to pant out her orgasm, kissing the back of her neck. And then when she's finally still and quiet, her eyes closed and her breathing more even, he steps back.

"This month," He growls. "I'm knocking you up."

She turns and faces him, her expression a little dazed. She nods. "Yes, this month. We're going to try harder." And then her gaze drops to his pants, where he's sure she can see the hard length of his cock pushing unhappily at the fabric. She steps forward with a small smile, and then her hand is on him, squeezing and palming him through his pants.

He groans.

"But if we're going to try this again, we have to do it right," Regina says seriously, as if they're at a library meeting and not like she's stroking him through his pants. "I want to make sure I'm giving this the best possible chance."

Her grip is fucking perfect, a little hard and palming the full length of him, and it's making it difficult to think. "Sure, love. Me too."

"Which is why this month you're going to save all of your orgasms for me."

Her other hand is now cupping his balls, and he has to lean a hand against the door or he's going to fall over.

"I already am," Robin says. "I haven't been with anyone else since the day I met you."

She smiles and squeezes his tip. His eyes roll into the back of his head.

"I know you haven't, Robin. I'm not talking about that."

He opens his eyes to her. "Um. Then what are you talking about?"

And then her words really sink in. _All_ his orgasms. She can't possibly mean…

"No more jerking off while I look at my Jessica Alba poster?"

"No jerking off looking at the poster," she confirms. "Or in the shower. Or anywhere. You save it all for me."

"You sure you want that, love? Feeding my full appetite?"

She nods, squeezing him again. God, it's so hard to argue with her like this. She's got him by the balls...and the cock. "I know I won't be fertile the whole month, but I don't want to take the chance in case I have the dates wrong or something."

She drops her hand, wearing a smug little smile. He groans at her denial. "Shit, you're mean."

"I'll be off my period in five days. Then you can fuck my brains out. But until then, you save it for me. All month long, all your orgasms. All for me."

But as she gives him a cute little wink and he gives her a semi-playful, semi-I-hate-you-so-much-right-now spank on the ass, he wonders if she even realizes the truth beyond his sperm and beyond his body.

It's already all for her.

Regina walks one kid across the road to where his mom is waiting in the car outside the library, after speaking with the mother she heads back towards the library. As soon as her feet hit the opposite sidewalk, red and blue lights flash and a siren blares.

"Ah, shit."

She waits as the patrol car pulls over to the curb and the officer gets out. She's already preparing to drop Robin's name when the cop comes around the front of the vehicle, and she can make out his face clearly.

Relief sweeps through her when she realizes who it is. "Oh, it's you! You scared me, Robin. I thought I was really in trouble."

"Who says you aren't?" He looks her over and, with those aviators with the reflective lenses, he's just the way she remembers him from their first meeting. Complete with the hot cop uniform and the hot cop attitude.

Unconsciously, she takes a step backward. Just because he's _so_ hot, it's almost hard to be near him. "Don't tease me," She says, nervously. Not nervous because she thinks she's actually in trouble but nervous because of how swoony he is right now. She almost wishes that she _was_ in trouble. "I didn't think that was you because you were in a car. I've only ever seen you on your bike. Where is your bike, anyway?"

He ignores her question and takes another step toward her. "No teasing, ma'am. Do you know why I stopped you?"

"Oh for pete's sake."

"Do you have any identification on you?"

Regina rolls her eyes. Apparently, he's going to play this by the book. "I don't. I have my car key. My purse is locked in my car. Which is in the parking lot over there."

"And you know why I stopped you?" He tilts his head, studying her. Studying the anxious way she's playing with her hands.

Regina drops them immediately. He's a cop and somehow that triggers something automatic in her. Who doesn't get worked up when approached by a police officer after having just broken the law, even a minor law?

But then he lifts up his glasses for just a second and gives her a wink, coupled with that painfully sexy grin. "It's just a game, Regina. I'll stop if you want me to."

That would be bananas though, because she doesn't want him to stop. Because she knows this cop. Intimately.

"Don't stop," Regina says, a little too eagerly, which earns her another grin as he slides his sunglasses into his chest pocket.

But his smile fades into a stern expression as he repeats his question from earlier. "Do you know why I stopped you?"

"I'm going to guess it was because I was in the middle of the street. Or because you're horny. It's been a couple of days, and since I'm not due to ovulate for another day or two I'm sure you're going to want to get something in before that." She unbuttons the top button of her blouse in case that's the direction he wants to take this.

His gaze flick briefly to her cleavage then back to her eyes. "Jaywalking is considered an ordinance violation."

Regina lets out a huff. She's not sure how he wants her to respond, and she's ready for this game to move to the next level. Does he just want her to admit her guilt? Why isn't he pouncing all over her like usual?

Regina sticks out her chin defiantly. "You know what else is considered a violation? Officer Locksley wasting his sperm. You haven't been doing that, have you? Is that why you aren't jumping all over this right now?" She motions a hand up and down, gesturing to her body—the body he is decidedly not jumping all over.

Robin blinks, unmoved by her antics. "As I was driving up, I clearly saw you crossing the street in an area that is not designated for pedestrian crossing."

Regina tries a new tactic. "Are you going to give me a ticket, Officer?" She peers up at him through her lashes, but she can't keep it up without laughing. "Is this where the women bat their eyes and flirt to try to get out of getting in trouble? Or do they cry? I want to get it right."

Robin arches an eyebrow. "Are you asking how you might bribe a police officer out of getting a ticket?"

Regina cozies up to him, tugging on his shirt. "Not just any police officer. I'm asking how the women try to bribe you." She winks, and it is a game, but also she really wants to know. She wants to know what he comes face to face with every day. What women offer him. What his temptations are.

But the minute she touches him, Robin is on the defensive. "Stand back, ma'am."

Regina doesn't have to move since he's already stepped away. "Now turn please and place your palms on the vehicle."

"Are you…arresting me?" A tremor of excitement runs through her. This game suddenly got fun. "On what grounds?" She turns around and put her palms on the car like he's asked, pretending she's put out.

"Attempting to bribe an officer of the law." He comes up behind her, so close she can feel the heat of his body and smell the familiar musk of his scent.

"But I hadn't even gotten to the bribing part yet!"

"It counts." He pats her down, and she's pretty sure it's nothing like how officers really pat people down, or there would be a lot more people talking about it on The View. His hands feel along the sides and under her breasts but then he cups them, holding them in his hands, next he squeezes them together before moving lower down her body. When he kicks her legs apart, his hands explore up the entire length of her thighs and his fingers rub along the crotch of her panties.

"I have nothing to hide," She whispers breathlessly as he swipes inside her panties this time. "I promise."

He stands back up and twists her arms so her hands are gathered at her lower back. "I beg to differ," he says low at her ear. "It seems you have quite a prize down there. I bet a lot of people would want that very much if you didn't keep it hidden."

He punctuates his statement with the click of his cold metal handcuffs as he slips them on her wrists. "You have the right to remain sexy," he says. "Anything you say can and will be used to get you in my bed on your back or on your knees."

Regina bites back a giggle at his twist on the Miranda rights, but Robin's delivery is completely solemn, which makes her breath ragged and goose bumps rise on her skin.

"You have the right to use my body to give yourself a delirious, life-changing orgasm." He bends in close to her ear and whispers. "If you have trouble…don't worry, I'm a bit of an expert in that department."

Yes. Yes, he is.

He straightens and resumes his regular tone. "And trust me, I know how to put these handcuffs to good use."

And now Regina's so wet she's dripping.

She's never been so lucky to be pulled over in all her life.

Robin opens the door to the back seat of the police car but suddenly he pauses. "Are you expected anywhere right now?"

"Uh. No." Regina tries to guess exactly what he's getting at. "If you're asking if I'm still okay with playing Get Arrested by the Neighborhood Hot Cop, I'm cool. This is completely consensual."

She must have guessed correctly because he nods slightly then says, "You can argue about it more at the station," and pushes her head down with one hand so she doesn't bump it as he puts her inside the back of the cop car.

He closes the door and then gets in the front seat and starts the car.

Regina is grinning as he drives them off the street into a dimly lit corner of the Corinth parking lot, which thanks to our lack of infrastructure updates is really dimly lit. Next, he picks up his radio. "Dispatch, this is 23 going on e-call," he says.

She wants to ask him what he just did and what e-call means, but she already knows he won't tell her. Not right now, anyway. She makes a note to ask him later.

He hangs up his radio and shifts to face her. "Now. What are we going to do with you?"

He's so good at the role playing—well, yes, maybe because he actually is a cop—but he's so good at pretending that all of this is real, that she's really just a stranger who he's caught breaking the law, that he's really arresting her.

He's so good, she decides he deserves for her to try to give him her best character in return. She tries to imagine what she'd really be feeling if she'd just been arrested and were afraid for her reputation, but it only takes her three seconds to realize that real-life emotions are not appropriate in this situation. In real life, if she were cuffed in the back of a police car, she'd probably be guilty of something big, and not daydreaming about how she was about to bang the arresting officer. In real life, if the arresting officer was touching her the way Robin was—the way she hopes Robin will later too—it would be sexual assault.

So instead, she abandons reality and plays the scene she thinks would be fun.

"Please don't do this, officer," Regina begs. "Do you really have to take me into the station? I can't have an arrest on my record. I just can't!" She sounds pretty authentic, if she does say so herself. Her voice cracks and her lip trembles. She can't fake tears, but she wrinkles her face so it looks like she's on the edge of crying.

His rubs his scruff as his stare turns greedy. "It sounds pretty important to you to avoid this arrest."

"Oh, it is. It is. I'll do anything."

That's all it takes to get him in the back seat with her.

She scoots away from him, intent on acting shy despite her offer.

Robin won't let her forget. "You'll do anything?" he asks, scooting after her until she's backed into the corner. He slides his hand up her bare leg not stopping when it meets the hem of her skirt.

"Anything, Officer Locksley." She licks her lips and widens her eyes. "My hands though… Maybe you could undo the cuffs?"

He laughs with a hint of fake meanness in his tone. "I think I like the way you look wearing my cuffs. And I'm pretty sure that anything you could do to get yourself out of this could be done just as easily without your hands."

"Oh," Regina gasps as though she's way too innocent for what he's suggesting. "But if that's the only thing that will get me out of this situation, then I guess…"

"It's the only thing, sweetheart." He's already opening his pants for her. Already stroking the length of his hard cock. "Unless you'd rather I take you on down to the station."

"No, no! Please. I'll do it." This sure as hell better not be a game he plays with other women, because this is their game, dammit. She's decided.

She watches him as his hand pumps up and down his erection once more, and she wonders for a minute how difficult it's been for him to keep his hands off himself. She's made herself available to him every time he's asked, but still. He's had to be tempted.

It's an extra turn on to her right now, knowing that he's saved himself. Knowing that everything inside his cock has been waiting just for her. It's got her hot and wet and eager. Though her character's pretending that this is terrible, real life Regina Mills has never been so eager to put a cock in her mouth.

She pulls her knees up underneath her on the back seat, then she bends and starts to suck him off.

He doesn't take control this time, and she doesn't wait for him to, either. She knows what he likes. She knows the way he wants her tongue and how deep he wants her to take him in her mouth. She gives it to him exactly like she knows he loves, until his thighs are tensing and his breathing has grown shallow.

He lays a hand on her head then, petting the loose tendrils of her hair. "Would you swallow for me?" he asks above her, and she's not sure if he's asking as arresting Officer Locksley or as the guy who's saving all his sperm for her.

She's still trying to decide how to answer, or if she even needs to. Her mouth is otherwise occupied, after all, and speaking isn't at the top of her priority list. But if those weren't factors, and if this weren't a game?

She'd told him they had to do this right. That they had to save all his sperm for baby making alone, and she meant it. Right now though, she wished she didn't mean it. She wished that there was a Robin and Regina that existed somewhere else, in another dimension, where the goal wasn't a baby and their time together didn't have obligations attached to it. Because then she would. She'd do whatever he wanted her to.

But there isn't another dimension.

And she doesn't have to answer for real because he cups his hand around her neck and gently pulls her off his cock and presses his face up near hers, as though he means to terrorize her.

"Wasn't it good enough?" She asks, forcing her voice to tremble. "I can do better! I can swallow!"

"Good girl." He nips at her ear, and it tickles and makes her toes curl. She's helpless because her hands are bound, and that makes this even hotter. "I knew you'd swallow. But I don't want you to. I want my cum inside of you."

Regina gasps dramatically. "Does it really have to be that, Officer? Can't it be something else?"

"No. It has to be this. You said you'd do anything and this is what I want." He pushes her apart and kneads at her clit through her panties. "You're soaked. You want it too, baby. See?" He sticks his finger inside of her and scoops up some of her wetness to show her.

"That doesn't mean anything," Regina protests.

"It does. It means you want me. Taste how much you want me." He puts the tip of his finger to her mouth and pushes until she opens up and sucks her wetness off his finger. "Good, right? That's how much you want my cock inside you."

"But." She gives him a final objection. "I'm not on birth control, and I could get pregnant."

He laughs. "Sounds like a personal problem."

She has to bite her cheek so that she doesn't laugh too, though, for some reason it doesn't really seem as funny as it once might have.

She doesn't have time to ponder on that because Robin is moving on with their scene. After pushing her back against the door, he pulls her legs out from underneath her. "You're going to sit back and be a good girl while I take off your panties," he says. "Next, you're going to get on my lap, and you're going to ride me until I come. Then, and only then, if I come good and I come hard, then I'll take those cuffs off your pretty little wrists, and I'll forget I ever saw you crossing that street tonight. Got it, sweet thing?"

Regina presses her lips into a pout and nods. She pretends to struggle as he pulls her panties down her legs and pockets them, and he pretends to reprimand her, telling him the harder she makes this for him, the worse trouble she'll be in when this is over.

Finally, she's bare and her skirt is hitched up to her waist. Robin sits back and pulls her onto his lap where she sinks down easily onto his cock. She's so used to him now—his size, his fit—she adjusts quickly, but she whimpers as though the invasion is painful. As though it's the worst thing in the world to be sitting on him, her breasts bouncing even in her bra as he helps lift her up and down over him.

"Make me feel good," Robin whispers to her as she's taking his cock. She squeezes down on him as she's riding him. "Yes, yes just like that. You keep this up, and you'll be out of your ticker in no time."

He's fucking her as much as she's fucking him right back. The sounds of them fill the backseat of his police car, the grunts, the groans, the sensual slap of skin against skin. Still in her roleplaying, she tells him. "Don't come in me or I might get pregnant."

"Not my problem, you should have thought of that before you decided to break the law," Robin groans as he brings her chest closer to his mouth and his mouth clamps down on one of her nipples and he starts to suck, just like a baby would at her breast.

And in a way, it is the worst thing in the world. Because in this moment, while they're sweating and moaning and he's hitting that one spot and she's tightening around him, she realizes how alive she feels. How young. How far from thirty and death and the graveyard. Not only does she feel it right now while she's playing this naughty game with Robin, but she felt it in his bedroom and the hotel room the first night they were together. She felt it in the restaurant on their first date and in the library when he helped her shelve books. She feels it whenever she's with him. Not just when they're naked and fucking, but when they're teasing and talking and just being together.

And that is the worst thing in the world to realize.

Because they're temporary. And this isn't going to last.

She still thinking about that when she climaxes and the pleasure that pulses through her has an edge of sadness. He follows quickly with his own orgasm. She slumps on his shoulder, panting, trying hard to blink away the tears that are gathering in her eyes.

When Robin has recovered, he lifts her off of him and tucks himself away before pulling out his key and unlocking the cuffs. Taking one hand, he rubs her wrist where it's gone red from the metal.

"That. Was. Fun." He grins widely at her. "See? You're fun."

She starts to deliver the same old protest she always deliver when it occurs to her—maybe all of this youth and aliveness isn't just because of Robin. Maybe those things were all on my own. He might have brought it out in her, but it doesn't mean she can't hold onto it. She's young. She's fun. She doesn't have to be afraid of turning thirty. If she were really at death's door, would she be fucking sexy policemen in the back of their cars or having a baby on her own?

No. She wouldn't.

So she genuinely grins back at him. "You're right. I am fun. And guess what else. I'm not dying."

"Uh. That's great?"

"Yeah. It's pretty great." Then, because she's fun and young and alive she leans forward and kisses him. Kiss him really good. Like she means it. Like she means other things too. Things that aren't actually possible between them—like how nice it would be to visit that other dimension and thank him for showing her this other side of herself. Things that are maybe too nice to say to just a guy who she's contracted to impregnate her, but it's okay to say it like this. As long as she only says it like this, in a kiss.

His eyes are shining when she pulled away, and he can't seem to stop looking at her.

"Where's your bike, anyway?" She asks, trying to get the attention off of her.

"In for maintenance." He hasn't let go of her hand.

"And what's e-call mean?"

"I was signing out for emergency only calls. Basically, I was taking a dinner break." He's still staring at her, still studying her like he doesn't want to stop.

Regina pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly nervous from this strange new tension between them. "Is that what you call this? Dinner?"

He shakes his head slowly, as though not quite sure of himself. "I don't know what to call this. I've never done this before."

Her heart speeds up for no apparent reason. "Which part?"

"Never had sex in a patrol car. Never fucked someone I was pretending to arrest while on duty. Never fucked anyone at all while on duty." His lip curls guiltily. "Now I have used handcuffs. I can't deny that."

She giggles. "How could you not have used them? They're your main prop."

"Exactly." The humor dissipates and the air between them feels stretched and thin. It's not uncomfortable. Just fragile.

Then Robin says, "But I've never done anything quite like this. There's never been anyone like you, Regina. There will never be anyone like you."

And now she can't breathe. Because those are words that other dimension Robin might say to other dimension Regina and they might be beautiful and they might mean everything.

But in this dimension, Regina Mills knows that beautiful words never mean everything. They're only a prelude to a packed suitcase and a lonely bed.

And whatever she's thinking is crazy sauce. They've been roleplaying all night, and her head's a mess. That's all. He didn't mean it how it sounds.

She clarifies to be sure. "Of course, there's no one like me. Because I'm the only woman you've ever been contracted to impregnate. Right?" She throws in a laugh to make sure the mood is light, like it's supposed to be.

"Right," he says smiling in return. "Because you're the only woman I've ever been contracted to impregnate. Of course."

It's dark, though, and it might mean nothing, but she swears his smile doesn't reach his eyes.

* * *

Until Next Time...


	7. Chapter 7

_**(A/N-Special thanks to all who read, review, follow, fav. Also special thanks to Bekki for beta reading this.)**_

* * *

"Are you touching yourself?"

There's a breath, a pause, and another breath. "Yes," Regina finally whispers. "I am."

They're on the phone—she's at her house and he's in his car on his way from the station. The past four days have been a mess—he got called in for a fatal car accident that's needed a lot of follow-up and Regina's been working a few extra shifts while one of her coworkers is away _and_ he had double babysitting duty this week—and so it's been the better part of a week since he's been inside her. Since he's come at all. And he is about to _explode._ This morning he got hard pouring a cup of coffee because it reminded him of the long silken tresses of Regina's hair. Yesterday it was from eating a scone, remembering the quick pink dart of Regina's tongue as she licked scone crumbs off her lips.

And don't even get him started on the backseat of his car—every time he sees it, he's hit with the full fucking force of what they did there two weeks ago. She's his first policy violation, the first time he's ever broken the rules as a cop, and he should feel guilty, but goddamn. Every fucking second of that night was worth any of the trouble it could rain down on his head.

"Keep touching yourself," He tells her over the phone. "I need you ready when I walk through that door, love, because I'm not going to be able to wait."

"Okay," she says, in that breathless, absentminded way that lets him know she's starting to touch herself in earnest now. He thumps an impatient hand against the steering wheel. _Fuck._ He wants to be there _now_ , wants to see the glide of her fingers over her slick folds. Except in this state he'd be too impatient to watch for long; he'd push her fingers out of the way and make her use his cock to masturbate with instead.

The drive is only a few minutes, but he's a wild man by the time he gets to her place. He's still listening to her whimper and pant over the phone as he pounds on the door. He doesn't even let Regina get the door open all the way before he's on her, pinning her to the wall in her foyer and kicking the door shut with his foot as he finds her mouth with his own.

"I'm so full and ready for you, love," he murmurs as he pulls her fingers from his mouth. He moves her hands down to his belt, which she fumbles excitedly with. Once his fly is open, she tugs his cock free and gently palms his balls.

He bucks in her hand, moaning. It almost hurts, being this full. He hasn't gone this long without ejaculating in a long time. "I'm sorry," he says, grabbing her ass and carrying her over to her little dining table with her legs wrapped around his waist. His bare cock rubs against her wet slit as they walk, and he nearly has a stroke. "I can't wait another second."

"Me neither," she whispers as he sets her on the edge of the table.

"I've been waiting for this all day."

"It's yours," she breathes. "Take it."

He enters and starts to pound in her, causing the table to shake like there is an earthquake going on.

"Yes, Robin, more." Regina moans out.

He grunts in response, his eyes as hungry and Regina-starved as his cock, taking in every detail of this. Her wild tits, her parted mouth, the slick and easy slide of his member in and out of her. He won't last and feels the twisting heat at the base of his spine and the tug of his heavy balls as they draw up, and with the table pounding against the wall, he unleashes a series of brutal, fast, deep thrusts that leaves him bottomed out in her and leaves her gasping and clutching desperately at his shirt.

"Gonna come," he mumbles. "Gonna come so hard."

"Give it to me," she demands breathlessly. "Give it all to me."

"Shit yes. I'm gonna. I'm gonna."

And he does, the first wave of release like getting his guts torn out, it's so sharp and so strong. He practically roars, and then he sinks his teeth into her shoulder as his shaft pulses and pumps cum into the deepest parts of her. Pulse and pump, pulse and pump, over and over again, and he's never come like this, so much and so fast and so hard, and it takes forever to unload inside her. It feels like minutes and hours, keeping her pinned with his teeth and speared with his cock as he empties himself. Until finally, finally his body tenses one last time—one final spurt of his seed—and then stills.

The hurricane of need is finally sated.

He stops biting Regina's shoulder, giving the shallow teeth marks a soothing lick and kiss, and then straighten up and looks down. Regina is still breathing hard when he eases out of her, relishing the spill of his seed as he does. He gets a washcloth and quickly cleans them both up.

"Hey, you're due for your period soon, right?"

She looks up and a small smile spreads across her face. "You remembered."

"I downloaded some kind of period tracker app on my phone,"

She laughs at that and stands up, tossing the used washcloth in the sink. "I bet now your targeted internet ads are all messed up."

"You're telling me. Every time I log into Facebook, I get ads for those period panties on the side. I used to get ads for bullets and beard grooming supplies. What are you doing to me?"

She adjusts her dress with a smirk. "Maybe it will be good for you to live outside your masculine bubble for a while."

"So, have you taken a test yet? I know it's early, but how can you stand the wait?"

"I'm not actually due until tomorrow," she says, the smirk sliding off her face.

"They have those tests where you can test up to five days before your period. I saw that on the box. You could totally take a test now!" He's starting to feel a little excited—for her, of course, all for her.

"Mm." Regina makes a noncommittal noise and goes into her bedroom, returning with a fresh pair of panties.

"Don't _mmm_ about this! Let's go to the drugstore and get a test now! You could take it tonight!"

Okay, maybe he's feeling a lot excited. Which is stupid, because if she _is_ pregnant, then it's that much sooner that she dumps him—if dumping is even the right word. And that possibility fills him with dread, but even with that dread, he can't help but want to know. He can't help but feel a spark of excitement at the potential spark of life inside his librarian's belly.

Regina puts on the underwear slowly, as if buying time for a response, and even though she's not trying to be sexy, he starts to thicken and swell again at the sight of the thin lace moving up her legs, at the flash of her perfect ass as she lifts her dress. Finally she straightens, smoothing her dress down, and says one word. "No."

"Come on, let's go get one."

She shakes her head firmly. "There's no point in taking one at night, it needs to be the morning because—"

"—hCG levels are highest in the morning, I know."

She narrows her eyes. "You know about hCG?"

"The pregnancy hormone? Belle's been pregnant twice, Regina. You know how unafraid she is of body talk. I picked up a thing or two." He doesn't mention to Regina that he's been steadily reading his way through every pregnancy book the library owns, since maybe that seems a little over-committed to the whole process.

"But just because the levels are highest in the morning doesn't mean you can't test any other time, especially this close to your period."

"Fine." She gives a little huff, as if irritated that she can't smack him down with her superior knowledge of human pregnancy. "Maybe I could. But I told myself I wasn't going to test until tomorrow and I don't like changing plans when I've already attached emotional processes to them."

He blinks at her.

"What I mean is, I don't want to get my hopes up and then be disappointed, like what happened last month. But if I do it the way I planned, it's like I can protect myself a little. Because I've emotionally rehearsed what it will feel like doing it on the day I'm supposed to get my period."

"Love, I don't emotionally rehearse shit, and I'm still okay. Look at us—at this—" he gestures between their bodies. "I'm so glad I didn't emotionally rehearse our first date. I'm glad you blindsided me with this whole baby madness."

She bites her lip. "You are?"

"Yeah, and it was spontaneous and crazy and I didn't know how to feel about it at first, but that's part of the fun, doll. That's part of being alive. If you plan to avoid every bad feeling, eventually there's not going to be room for the good feelings either."

She nods but adds, "But the tests I ordered from Amazon haven't come in yet and I don't want any local people seeing me at the pharmacy."

He brings his keys out of his pocket. "Now that is a problem I can fix."

They arrive at a pharmacy where a friend of Robin's works, he steps behind the counter, into the pharmacy area. "Hello?"

Harry comes pottering around the corner, a smile spreads under his bristly white mustache. "Robin Locksley!" he rumbles in happy surprise, pulling him into a hug. His bald head only comes up to his collarbone. "You rascal. What are you doing here?"

Robin hugs him back and then pulls away to throw a mock-rueful glance back at Regina, who is clutching the pregnancy test box and looking mortified. "Well, Harry, I think I got a girl pregnant."

"I knew you would eventually. And you're so young!"

He's giving him a very disappointed look, so he reminds him, "I'm thirty-three now."

"Oh. I guess that's not so young." He scratches his mustache. "Thirty is when you stop producing human growth hormone, you know. And your DNA telomeres start degrading. It's when the body starts dying."

"Exactly!" Regina says from behind him.

"I'm not dying! And neither are you, Regina."

"We're kind of dying, though," she says.

"Take your vitamins," Harry adds, with a touch of sternness, "and then you won't die so fast."

"I'll be sure to do that. Anyway, is there any chance we can get the bathroom key so she can take the test now?"

"Oh, that lock has been broken since the Bush Administration," the old pharmacist says. "Just go on in."

"Oh no—" Regina objects. "We can just buy the test here and then take it at home, and—"

"Young lady," Harry says, all sorts of sternness back in his voice. "If you are pregnant, you need to know _as soon as possible_. And you are not leaving my store without all the vitamins and folic acid I can give you."

Regina knows she can't win, so she nods and goes into the bathroom with the test and the closes the door behind her.

"She's a good girl. I can tell these things. Now, are you going to give that baby your name? Marry the girl?"

For just a moment, he wants to pretend that Regina really is his girlfriend, that he's really on the precipice of fatherhood, that he's got a ring stashed away in his house somewhere, just waiting for the right moment.

"Yes," Robin pretends. "I'm going to make her mine. We're going to be a family."

The words sound so good, they feel so good to say. A weird heat prickles in his eyes, balls into a huge knot in his throat.

That earns him a pat on the shoulder. "Good boy." And then with a second pat, Harry trundles back off into the back to fill more orders.

He hears the toilet flush, but there's no other sound from the bathroom. He knocks on the door. "Regina? Everything going okay in there?"

"I'm fine," her voices is muffled and a touch irritable. "I'm just doing another one."

"Another test?"

"There's three in the box, so I just…Oh."

The _oh_ is strange, completely devoid of emotion but also slightly stunned, as if the lack of emotion is because whatever has just happened has surprised her so much that she doesn't know how to react yet.

"Regina, does that _oh_ mean what I think it does?"

She says faintly, so faintly he can barely hear her through the door, "There's another blue line on the first test I took. There's two lines."

"I'm coming in there—"

"Robin, no! I'm still on the—"

And he doesn't even care, because he's charging through the door and going to his knees and pulling Regina Mills into his chest, even though she's still on the toilet, even though she's still clutching her last unused test in her hand.

"Oh my god, love. We are having a baby."

The word _we_ comes out so easy, like a breath, like a tear, natural and gentle and warm, and Regina doesn't correct him. Something he's grateful for, because he wants to pretend, wants all those noisy reasons why there isn't a _we_ to stay forgotten. He kisses her hair and pulls back to study her face. "You okay, doll?"

She nods, biting her lip. There's something distant in her face. Shock, maybe. The reality of getting something she wants so much. Maybe it's sitting on the toilet still and having a big cop come in and smash you into a bear hug.

"Sorry," he says, letting go. He offers a smile that she doesn't return with one of her own. "I shouldn't have come in. I'll be outside."

He leaves her in the bathroom. He is thrilled that they, they? are having a baby. She comes out a few moments later.

"I guess we should ask Harry for the extra vitamins," she says numbly. "I've already got some pre-natals that I've been taking, but I'm almost out and…" She trails off, as if she can't hold on to the thought.

When they get back inside her living room, she's still white-knuckling those tests, holding on to them the way you might hold on to a life preserver if you were drowning.

"Hey," he says, ducking down to meet her eyes. "Look at me. What's going on?"

She blinks down at the tests in her hand. "I don't know. I don't know how to feel. What to think. I wanted this so much and now that it's happening…it's like it doesn't even feel real."

"Come here, babe." he leads her over to her couch, and then he sits, pulling her down onto his lap. And then he slides his hands up her thighs to reach her stomach under her dress.

She sighs again, this time one of pleasure, and he feels her flicker back to life under his touch. He rests his fingertips well below her navel, right where her panties meet her warm, soft skin. "It's real, Regina. This is real right now."

She looks at him, finally really looks at him, and he can see all the unguarded fears pressing up against the inside of her. In the dusk-lit apartment, her eyes are huge and dark and pleading. "The last two months have been like some kind of…dream," she whispers. "I don't know if I remember what real feels like."

Her words twist something inside of him. Suddenly he knows he feels the same way, like this whole fantasy they've been letting ourselves act out has somehow become more real than the things they told themselves they wanted at the very beginning.

"This is real," he tells her, and now he doesn't know if he means the pregnancy or if he means _this—_ the chemistry, the connection, the _us_ they're both too afraid to acknowledge even to themselves. "This is fucking real."

"Yes," she pants against his mouth. Her hands are down at his belt, her fingers brushing against the ridged lines of his stomach as she fights to work it open. "This is real."

She gets his belt open and his jeans unzipped, and in a second's work, he has her panties hooked to the side and her wet core is slowly sinking over his cock. She groans as she impales herself, and he groans too, just watching her. Watching the flush creep up her chest, the sweet points of her nipples poke through her dress. The unabashed, naked pleasure on her face. She feels good, and he's the one making her feel good.

"Is that what you needed, love?" Robin asks.

She nods, her hands almost frantic to push back his shirt, pulls his hair, digs into his arms. "I needed it," she whispers. "I always need it."

"Yeah."

She's soft and tight, and he feels so fucking hard and big inside her. She always makes him feel so big, like a porn star. Like a god.

He moves her the way she needs, the way that rubs her inside and out, and he pulls her down for growling, hungry kisses, and he reaches up to squeeze and fondle her breasts, and he keeps her speared on his shaft until she's trembling and crying out his name, _Robin, Robin, Robin._

 _This is real._

 _This is real._

 _This is real._

 **A Danish study says that frequent sex can prevent preeclampsia.**

Regina stares at the text she's written. Then, before she can talk herself out of it, she pushes SEND and sets her phone on the library cart. The ache between her legs is intense, but this text is not only an excuse to see Robin. There's legit science behind it. It's just this is the third time legit science has been behind the sex-requesting texts she's sent him in the week since she found out she was pregnant.

The first time it was the study that showed that intercourse could lower blood pressure in pregnant women. The second time she'd read an article that orgasms were helpful for strengthening the muscles used in labor. Both times, he'd responded without delay or argument.

Both times orgasms and banging were had.

Her phone is already vibrating between the computer and the edge of the cart.

 **Preeclampsia is way bad. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.**

 **No! I'm at the library,** she responds. **You better make it thirty.**

She opens up the web browser on her computer and type in _sex addict_ in the search box. The first article that appears lists characteristics of addicts, and thank the Lord, none of them sound like her. Well, except for maybe having delusional thought patterns. Does this count as a delusional thought pattern?

She groans inwardly.

She's completely distracted. There's a baby inside her. A _baby_. A baby she wanted and planned for, but now it's actually here. Growing. Living. Being. And the wait to meet him or her seems so eternally long while the wait to prepare for his or her arrival seems so ridiculously short.

She keeps her features schooled even though she can feel her face heating as she glances at the web page. According to the list of article titles that showed up from her earlier search ( _Very Horny During Pregnancy, Help! I'm Horny and Pregnant, Horniness During the First Few Weeks, Sex Toys for the Horny Pregnant Woman_ ), horniness during pregnancy is definitely a common problem. That means there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for her addiction to Robin. This is good news!

"Interesting topics." A voice sounds behind her.

Belle!

Regina quickly looks at her open browsers.

 _Pregnant and Horny_

 _Sex Addict_

 _Coffee and Pregnancy_

 _Your Baby at 5 Weeks_

 _What to Expect the First Trimester_

 _So You've Missed Your Period_

 _How Far Along Am I?_

 _Do Cheetos have any nutrients?_

 _9 Benefits to Sex During Pregnancy_

 _Sperm and Pregnancy_

"A patron had a lot of questions."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm a very helpful librarian." Regina offered.

Belle doesn't believe her.

"What?" Regina asks.

She gives her a look that calls bullshit. "You know exactly what! You're pregnant!"

"Shhh!" She glances around to make sure no one has heard her besides the old man who now looks grumpier than ever. Thankfully, she finds no one.

"And from the looks of your Google history, I'm going to guess you're five weeks. Which means you just found out. Which means you don't really have a bladder infection. You're just knocked up."

"Belle! Stop saying that. Someone will hear you."

"Am I wrong?" She's persistent, but quieter, at least. "Before you answer, if you tell me I'm wrong, and you end up being pregnant, I'll know you were lying in a few months when you can't hide it anymore, and I'll remember."

"That's not fair. You know guilt works on me."

"Who's the father?" she asks.

"There is no father." Regina can't look at her.

"Come on! Tell me!" Her gossip loving soul is itching for her to spill. She's practically vibrating with excitement.

"I don't want to talk about him," she tells her, emphatically. "Please. I'm doing this alone." Another stone drops inside her. This one feels much too complicated to call just shame. It's also disappointment and regret. And loss.

Belle nods, slowly. She's not happy with her response. She might even be a little hurt. But she's a good friend and a decent human being. She understands limits and naming the father is clearly one of Regina's. She'll honor it.

"Does he at least know?" she asks next.

"He knows. He's not going to be involved." Simple. Clear cut.

"That's not right, Regina. He needs to pay child support. I can help you go after him for that. I know a great lawyer who can—"

"No!" Regina says. "Absolutely not. He's not going to pay child support."

"And you're okay with that?"

"I _asked_ for that."

"If the guy is a really terrible guy, and you don't want him involved in the baby's life, I'll understand. But if you're trying to be heroic about this, you don't have to be."

"I'm not trying to be heroic. And he's not a really terrible guy. Not at all."

"That's terrific! Because, look." She exhales and Regina can tell she's getting ready to say hard words. "Having a baby is hard. Doing it on your own is…well, I know you can do it. Of course you can. But you deserve everything you can have. And so does your baby. And maybe…maybe so does this not terrible guy. So maybe you shouldn't rush into any decisions. You could find a way to have the baby _and_ the guy."

Regina is scared to admit that she wants the baby and its father. But they both agreed on this.

"Who's the father, Regina?" Belle asks softly.

"No one."

"Do I know him?"

"Belle. There's nothing I want to say about him. I don't want to talk about him. Ever."

"Okay, okay. Sorry." A beat passes. Then another. Then she's coming around the cart, her arms open wide, a big smile on her face. "But what I should have said was—you're going to have a baby! Oh my God! Congratulations!"

"Thank you." Regina finds that her eyes are full of tears.

"And you're happy? These are happy tears?"

"Yes, I'm still adjusting. I only found out a week ago, and it's kind of overwhelming."

"Kind of," she repeats sarcastically. "You know those sci-fi stories about aliens taking over people's bodies and turning them into crazy creatures who go around killing everyone? I'm convinced they're based on women's first pregnancies."

"That's...terrific."

She laughs. "It is, actually. Terrific and terrible all at once." She raises a suggestive brow. "And the hormones are getting to you already."

"...yes?" They are, but she doesn't quite catch her drift.

" _Pregnant and Horny. Sex Addict."_

Oh yeah. That.

"That was just…"

"I know exactly what it is," Belle says. "All the extra blood flow to the nether lands. Makes you extra itchy for the good stuff. There's some awesome toys I can recommend but nothing does the trick like the real thing. And now that I know you really are into men, this won't be a problem. Let me pull out my contacts. We've got to fix you up!"

"I'm not into men. I told you!"

"Obviously one was into you."

"Well. That was…" _Robin._ That was Robin. The ache returns inside.

"A one time thing? An accident? You were going to the mailbox to pick up your latest order and slipped and fell on a penis?" Of course she doesn't bother to lower her voice, even when speaking about male genitalia.

"I was going to say _complicated._ "

She bumps her with her shoulder. "Nothing gets you over complicated like rebound sex. Especially if you're pregnant and horny, you sex addict."

Rolling her eyes, Regina turns back to the cart and the computer screen. "I don't need rebound sex." Especially not when I'm still having the complicated sex.

Oh shit. The complicated sex!

"You should at least do a rebound date. And I know the perfect guy!"

"Of course you do," Regina checks her phone for any reply from Robin.

One text message from ten minutes ago. **On my way. Be wet.**

Yeah, Robin will definitely be here any minute. He's not here yet. Good. She has time. She types the word **MISSION** **ABORT** into her phone and hits SEND.

"Robert's friend Keith is coming into town Saturday after next," Belle says. "You have to do dinner with us. He's an author, newly single, and I know you'd love him. It would be so much nicer to have a foursome."

"Uh, I really don't think I want to start something with this baggage."

"It's just one date. Keith doesn't even live in town. It's not starting something. It's dinner." Belle says.

"Even one date. Seems like a waste of everyone's energy."

"If you're still hung up on your baby daddy…" Belle says casually.

And something inside jerks into reaction. "I'm not hung up on anyone," Regina says quickly. Because she's not hung up on Robin.

And then, as if drawn simply by the force of his name, Robin appears behind her at the library doors.

Fuck.

But he sees them. Sees her panicked look and then glances down at his phone as if he's just gotten a buzz from an incoming message. Goddamn Verizon. The service coverage is always so goddamn slow.

Robin nods reassuringly in her direction and then disappears down the stairs.

Down the stairs.

Not out of the library.

Why didn't he leave?

Her phone buzzes in her hand. **My cock is hard and waiting for you in the supply closet.**

"Okay. Fine," Regina tells Belle. "I'll do it. I'll go on the date." Because, like she said, it's one date. And at this point, she'll do anything to get rid of her and end this uncomfortable conversation so she can get downstairs and get on Robin.

"This is the last time," Regina pants.

Her palms are pressed hard against the sliding glass doors in Robin's sunroom. Her dress is around her waist, her knee is hitched up so it will leave an imprint on the glass, and his cock is pounding into her at just the right angle when it occurs to her that she might be in trouble.

And she's not talking about the baby she has coming.

"The last time. Totally the last time." He braces her raised thigh with one hand and the other grips her hip. His fingernails dig in with a delicious bite that adds to the storm of pleasure gathering below.

"I'm serious."

"So fucking serious." He growls. "Jesus, you feel good, love."

"So good."

"But no more after today," he says, his words running together.

"No more. No more," Regina chants rhythmically, which soon gives way to, "Right there, right there, right there, right there. Don't move."

"I'm not moving. This is all you, babe. Look."

She glances at them and realizes she's pushing back into him.

"You look so hot like this," he says, adoringly. "In this position."

She comes, cries out his name as she does. Her strength gone, her leg falls, and Robin, with both hands on her hips now, drives into her with wild strokes. "I'd mark you all up. You'd be covered with me all over your gorgeous ass." Soon he's coming too.

When she settles she turns to Robin. "I only agreed to meet at your house today because you said Pop would be here too."

"Hey." He puts his hands up like he's innocent. "How was I supposed to know he'd want to take the kids to story time?"

"Uh, maybe the big red circle on the calendar hanging on your fridge with the words _Take Kids to Storytime_?"

Robin grins like he has no regrets. "I guess I didn't notice."

"You're a cop, Robin. You notice everything."

"You really think having my grandfather here would have stopped us?"

She lets out a reluctant sigh. "You're right. We have no self-control. It's the pregnancy hormones, for me. What's your excuse?"

"Your breasts," he says, without missing a beat.

She raises a questioning brow.

"They're so big now. They were already perfect, but now they're...just…" He's staring at her chest like he's a starved man. "I'm already getting hard again looking at them."

"Stop looking at them!" She turns her back to him.

"And now I'm looking at your backside. And remembering how hot you were just a few minutes ago, fucking my cock. You were so crazy and determined and sexy—"

"Stop talking! And looking."

There's only one solution to their problem, one that was intended for this point in their contractual relationship all along. "Obviously the only thing that can stop us is to not spend time together."

"I suppose that is obvious," he says slowly.

"We have the library fair this Saturday."

He trails behind her. "That's just a few days away."

"And we've figured out everything we need for it. There shouldn't be any other reason we need to meet before then."

"So we're good. This can really be the last time if we want it to be."

"It was the last time, Robin."

"That's totally what I meant." But he's smirking again.

"Well, I should get going."

"What are you up to for the rest of the day?"

"I don't want to tell you." She's stalling.

"Now you have to tell me."

"You'll laugh at me."

"I'll find out. I'm a cop. I have ways."

"Okay, I'll tell you. But you have to promise not to make fun."

"I can't promise that."

"I'm going to Babies R Us to register for baby stuff."

He doesn't laugh, but she thinks it's because he's too stunned. "Regina, you're only six weeks pregnant."

"So?"

"You have thirty-four more weeks to go."

"I like to get things started early."

"No one registers this early. No one."

"You don't know that."

Robin is chuckling now. "You haven't even seen your OB yet."

"Only because he couldn't get me in yet."

"Have you even had time to research everything you need?" he asks eventually.

"I've been researching since before I even got pregnant. Duh."

"Well." God, his smirk. She could drown in his grin. "You'll want a feeding pillow."

"Got it on the list."

"And a decent carrier so you can wear your baby. There are a lot of different options and a lot of them are crap. I tried a bunch with Belle's kids. My advice—don't get the cheap ones."

She imagines him wearing a carrier, a sleepy newborn pressed against his chest, and suddenly she can't breathe. "Okay."

"What about car seats? What brand are you getting? Do you know which one is safest?"

He has a lot of good questions, and she's sure she could look up reviews online, but right now all she wants is the one he wants. The one he thinks is best. "Do you have one you recommend?"

"There are a few that are better than others. It really depends what options there are."

And there are a lot of options. She's sure.

"I should probably just come with you," he says at the same time she says "Maybe you should just come with me."

"Want me to drive or…?"

"I'll drive, then I can just drop you off on my way back home."

He goes to grab his house key and makes sure he has his wallet. When he comes back he hesitates. "This is spending more time together. Is that going to be okay?"

"We already banged, so I'm sure it's fine."

"Right, because there's no way we'd end up banging twice in the same day."

Yeah. She's totally in trouble.

Robin walks around the display crib, examining it from every angle. He even bends down to look at the legs and the base. When he stands again, he's frowning. "I don't like this one."

"Why? It's cute. I like the scalloped woodwork." She sees nothing wrong with it herself. And it's the one the store says is their bestseller. That has to say something.

"You can't buy baby furniture just because it's cute, Regina." He points at the side where the mattress meets the front panel. "This is a regular-sized mattress in here and there's a gap at the side. There should be no gap at all. This isn't safe. I don't like it."

"Oh." Now she's frowning too. "I didn't notice that."

"Cribs are responsible for more deaths than any other nursery product. You have to be really careful about them." He walks over to a less decorative crib behind the popular one. "This one has much better crafting. And it has a better standards rating on Consumer Reports. I looked it up while you were going gaga over the bedding with all the books."

He's referring to the Land of Stories bed set she'd found. "I wasn't going gaga. It was just a cute idea." It was patterned with children's classic books like _Alice in Wonderland and The Adventures of Robin Hood_. She added it to the registry, of course.

"Yeah, yeah, cute idea." He nods again to the crib. "We should get this one."

"You mean _I_ should get that one."

"That's what I said."

"You added the feeding pillow to the list?" he asks as they turn down the nursing aisle.

"I told you I did." She checks to make sure she did.

When she looks up again, he's holding up the two pumps from a double electric breast pump on display to his chest. "Please, please, please can we get these?"

She rolls her eyes. "Oh my God. Are you twelve?"

"This is like having a video game on your chest." He pretends to shoot the pumps in her direction.

She snatches one out of his hand. "Yeah, that's exactly what it's like."

"I'd never leave my house." He's examining the remaining pump, as if trying to figure out how he could make one of his own.

"You'd never leave the house if you had breasts, period." She puts it back on the shelf.

He stands over her shoulder to look at the screen of the registry iPad. "Put it on the list. Put it on. Put. It. On."

Shaking her head, she adds it to the list.

The next aisle is dedicated to medicines and related baby needs. "I'm adding diaper cream, Purell, baby Tylenol and Mylicon drops."

"Good, good." Robin wanders ahead of her and stops at the Vaseline. "Petroleum Jelly? Put lots of that on there."

"It's not for what you think it's for."

"It says multi-purpose, love." He moves farther down the aisle. "Add the Lanolin ointment too. Belle's nipples were cracked and nasty. You're going to want that."

"Are you telling me my nipples are going to be nasty?"

"No, not your nipples, babe. Never. But they might hurt. So put the ointment down. Gel packs too that you can stick in the freezer."

"'Kay. Got it down."

They split up at the travel systems, and she spends her time looking at the jogging strollers wondering if she should take up running just so she can get one of the slick carriages.

"This is the travel system I'd get," he says, pointing to a sleek convertible stroller with an accompanying infant car seat. "Except…" He moves some boxes around, looking to see if there's another option. "I guess you have to go with this one."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing's wrong with it. It just has two bases." He won't meet her eyes when he says it, as though it bothers him to tell her.

"For two different cars. So you can move the carrier back and forth."

"Well, maybe I'll have a babysitter or something who could use it."

"Yeah, good thinking."

She feels horrible, because it's not like he would be using the carrier, coming to get their baby every other weekend.

"Can we get one of these in my size?"

She looks over to see Robin holding up a onesie that reads _Tit Faced_.

"No. We cannot." But it makes her laugh, and she needs that right now.

"Fine." He puts it back. "You definitely should put this one on the list, though." He holds up another onesie that says _I'm Proof that My Mommy Puts Out._

She's laughing again. "If I put that on the registry, I guarantee you, Belle will be the one to buy it."

"Ew. I do not like to think about Belle thinking about you putting out. With me." He puts the onesie back on the rack.

"But she doesn't know I put out _with you_."

"But I do. And it's weird." He tucks an article of clothing under his arm. "We're getting this for sure."

" _I'm_ not getting anything right now. What do you have?"

" _I'm_ buying it, so don't you worry about it." Apparently, Robin doesn't believe in the bad luck karma.

She grabs the onesie from him, sure it's the _Captain Adorable_ outfit that she already saw (and added to the registry). But it's not. It's a simple white onesie with black letters that say _My Mom is Beautiful_.

Her chest knots and she looks up at Robin.

He shrugs like it's no big deal. "Someone needs to remind you when I'm not around."

Then he's thinking about that too. About how he's not going to be involved.

She lets him buy it for her. For them. For his baby.

And so she'll remember when he's not around.

Robin pulls into his driveway and turns off his car. "Here are your keys, _Grandma_."

Regina giggles. He's referring to how cautiously she drove when she was behind the wheel. "That's why I let you drive this time. I couldn't take you watching my every move."

"I wasn't watching your every move," he says, but he can't look at her because he knows he's lying.

"'The speed limit's forty-five here. You can go a little faster." Regina says in her best Robin's impersonation.

"I was being helpful." His grin is wide.

"I knew the speed limit. Officer."

"Then why weren't you going faster?"

"Because I was afraid you'd tell me I was speeding."

He twists in his seat, as much as his large frame can against the steering wheel in her small car, anyway. "Let me tell you a secret." He lowers his voice and bends near. "I speed. All the time."

"I know. I was watching."

He chuckles softly, a light rumble against his throat. His smile fades as he reaches out to sweep a tendril of hair off her face. She slants toward him, wanting his skin against hers.

He moves with her, turning his hand so his palm can cup her face.

"Regina…" he says, letting the end sounds of her name trail off and up, like a prayer, and her chest expands because she swears she'll know the meaning of that prayer.

She wants more, more of this with him.

She wants to tell him.

The words are trapped, just inside her mouth. _I don't want this to end_.

She doesn't want this to end.

"Robin?" She practices the words again in her head. _I don't want this to end. Please don't let this end._

"Yes, love? I'm listening," he says reassuringly, as if he knows what she's about to say. That she's about to change everything.

And then his phone rings.

He groans in frustration. "I'm sorry, love Gotta get this. It's work."

She's used to this. He's had to answer calls before when they've been together, even had to leave two or three times to go work a serious accident. It's the life of a cop, he's told her. They always have to be prepared. Always have to be on standby. It's usually no big deal.

But this time is different.

He doesn't say much, mostly it's, "Yeah." And "Uh huh." It's not his words that give him away, but his expression. It's gone hard and cold when just a moment ago he was open and warm. The crease at his brows sharpens, and though he's not quite frowning, she can feel the edges of his lips wanting to curl down.

Then there's an "Of course," and he hangs up.

"What's wrong?"

His head shakes dismissively. "Nothing. Something at work." He pockets his phone, taking the opportunity to not look at her.

"What is it, Robin? You can tell me."

He grips the steering wheel and pushes back, flexing his arm muscles, and she can tell he's struggling.

"Please. Tell me?"

"A guy on the force got killed today." Finally, he glances over at her. His eyes are stormy. "Graham Hunter."

"Oh, baby. I'm sorry." She puts her hand on his arm. He doesn't' say anything, and she knows he's trying to keep it together.

"How did he die?"

He swallows. "It's crazy really. Routine traffic stop."

"A routine traffic stop?"

"I know him quite well." He blinks then corrects himself. "I _knew_ him well. Sarge said he had pulled someone over for a busted light, and while he was giving the ticket, a drunk driver came by, hit him, and took off."

"Oh my God," Regina whispers, but what she is thinking is _that could have been Robin_. "Are you okay?" She wants him to turn and let her hold him, but now, just as much, she wants him to hold her. Because she's not sure _she's_ okay.

He remains somber though, staring out the front window at his garage door. Focused on the details and not on the pain. "This loss is going to be hard on the force. It's the second death we've had in the line of duty in the last couple of years. Graham was young too. He's leaving behind a wife and two boys. I don't even think the oldest is in school yet."

"That's awful." Her voice breaks and a tear slips down her cheek. That could have been Robin and that wife could have been her, and while he's stoically handling the very real death of his friend, she's barely holding on over the realization that cops' jobs are dangerous. Barely holding on over the realization that Robin could die.

He hears the crack in her voice and turns toward her, alarmed. "Oh, love." He wipes the tear off her face. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"It's a sad situation. And I'm hormonal. It's not your fault."

"Even so, I'm used to this shit. It's part of the job. I shouldn't be dumping all of this on you."

She wants him to dump it on her. Let her be there for him.

"I should go," he says.

All the things she wanted to say before his phone call are long gone, and as she drives away she's no longer worrying about their end; she's worrying about Robin's end.

It's a late lesson to learn, but now that she has she can't stop focusing on it. He's a cop. And cops die.

Robin is going to die.

She's still thinking about it at work later. Still thinking about the dead officer.

She feels terrible for the family that lost a husband and father, and she can't stop thinking about how she'd feel if she was the officer's widow. She can't even begin to imagine how Robin is feeling. In the back room she pulls up the database to see what Robin has checked out.

 _What to Expect When You're Expecting_

 _Mayo Clinic Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy_

 _The Expectant Father_

 _The Healthy Pregnancy Book_

 _The Pregnancy Countdown Book: Nine Months of Practical Tips, Useful Advice, and Uncensored Truths_

and _World War Z_

At the sight of the last title, she laughs. A book about the zombie apocalypse seems out of place in the company of the other books he's checked out. Books about babies and gestation and women's bodies changing with the growth of life. Books he's obviously checked out because of her. Because his child is living inside of her.

She doesn't want him to die and she doesn't want to lose him, and she wants more and she doesn't want things to end because _she loves him_.

She's in love with him.

She's such a fool. Such a stupid, stupid fool. It's been there all along, but she couldn't admit it. She didn't _want_ to admit it.

And it's not because of the orgasms. Or his uniform. Or those sexy aviators he wears. Or his stubble. Or because she's filled with pregnancy hormones. It's not because he cares about justice and body cameras and Captain America. Or the way he takes care of his nephews. It's not how he handles Violet or talks about his mother or how he moved in with Pop to look after him.

And it's not the way he makes her feel alive and fun. Or how he makes her feel beautiful. Or how he cares about her having her baby. Or because he gave her a baby. Or even how he bothered to check out pregnancy books.

It's not any _one_ of those things. It's _all_ of those things. It's all of _Robin_.

She's been scared to say it because she'd have to look at her life and decide if she could be brave enough to try to fit him in. But now she can't ignore it any longer, and she has no choice but to look and see what they could be.

And it's nothing.

Because even if Robin wants to make something work between them, even if he wants to be a couple and raise their child with her, even if he is the rare unicorn of a guy who doesn't leave—and those are a lot of seemingly impossible ifs to overcome, but if he could, he'd still be a guy in a dangerous job. He'd still be a guy who has the very real potential of encountering a criminal or a drunk driver or an angry cop killer.

He could die.

And that would destroy her.

But the worst part is that she's not the only one he'd leave behind, and that thought hurts more than she can bear. It's one thing for her to single-handedly raise a child who has never known a father, but to try to make up for the loss of a parent is an entirely different thing.

She can't stand the idea of her kid with that kind of wound.

She can't imagine the hole that Robin's absence would create if he orphaned a child while in the line of duty. She can't handle the thought of comforting that kind of heartache in someone else, let alone in herself. So the words she said this morning have to stand. They can't see each other after Saturday. They have to be done. Done having sex. Done shopping for baby things together. Done dancing around emotions they don't want to face.

Just done.

The civic fair at the library comes together perfectly, of course, because Regina Mills is perfect and amazing at her job and also this little city can step pretty lively when it wants to. The parking lot has been cleared of cars and is currently hosting fire trucks, ambulances, police cars and several stalls from local businesses and restaurants, handing out coupons and ice cream and balloon animals for the kids.

He was nervous about his presentation at the beginning of the fair, even though he's generally pretty confident when it comes to these kinds of things, but usually if he' giving a presentation, it's at a meeting full of city employees and other cops. Not in front of real, honest to God civilians, and not in front of his sister and not in front of the woman who is pregnant with his child.

The woman he can't get enough of, no matter how hard he tries. The woman who is breaking down every single fucking wall he has.

Plus, it's a high stakes issue for him, especially after Graham's death. He has to present his case for body cameras in a compelling enough light that he gets five hundred signatures out of this fair. And while there are easily more than five hundred people here, a majority of them will definitely need to sign his petition if he is going to hit his target number.

"This is Officer Graham Hunter. He was thirty-five, in the Army for six years before he went blue, and he has two children. I rode in his funeral escort yesterday." A sound rippled through the people in the parking lot, a collective exhale of sadness at the mention of his death. He appreciated the sadness, the real and tangible expression of it, and yet sadness on its own wasn't enough to change anything. "He was working a routine accident on 75th Street when he was struck and killed by a drunk driver. It was a hit and run, and because he was riding his police motorcycle that day, he didn't have a dashboard camera to record the events. The hit and run driver still hasn't been found—but maybe, if Graham had been wearing a body camera, we would have footage of the car. Maybe his family would have some closure."

People were nodding by this point, and Robin continued. "This isn't meant to supersede other reasons why getting body cameras is imperative. A police officer's life is not worth more than a civilian's. But I'm telling you about Graham to highlight the point that this upgrade benefits civilians _and_ officers. And I hope you'll keep that in mind as we circulate the petition around. Thank you."

There was a healthy smattering of applause, a lot of people coming up to ask questions and talk afterward, and then his part was over. Now, all he can do is wait until the end of the fair to see how full the signature sheet is.

After he's done talking to various citizens and media people, he feels a graze on his arm. It's Regina, a smile on her face and the near-summer breeze playing with loose tendrils of her hair. He has a bit of post-presentation adrenaline and she's so fucking beautiful. He goes to lean down to kiss her.

To his surprise, she pushes him away, casting a nervous glance around. "Robin! Belle's here!"

"I don't care."

"I care," she protests, still looking around. "And we said—remember, we said that last time was _the last time_."

"I need one more last time."

Belle comes up to them now, Robin watches as Regina slowly moves away from him.

"Robert has got the kids here to see the trucks and stuff. And I was wondering if you would mind taking them tonight after the fair winds down? Just for a few hours?"

"Of course," Robin answers.

"Excellent," Belle pronounces. "Robert and I are going on a double date. His friend Keith is in town, and—"

Robin doesn't really absorb the rest of what she's saying because he's watching Regina as she approaches the double doors of the library, and she's being intercepted by Robert and the boys and a guy that Robin doesn't recognize.

Robin sees red as he leans in and gives Regina a hug—like a real, _I am a man who likes your body_ hug where their chests touch and his hands move gently on her shoulder blades and he drops a kiss on her cheek.

He practically bellows at this; He almost roars like an angry lion. And then he starts towards them, nothing in his mind but getting between them, staking his claim. But by the time he's halfway across the parking lot, Robert and the kids and this new guy are drifting over to the face-painting station, and Regina is walking back into the library. Belle is keeping pace with him, and he realizes she's talking.

"Sorry, what?" Robin asks.

"I was saying that Regina was talking to Keith just then. He's her date tonight."

His legs make it two more steps before his mind absorbs the words. Then he stops. Like his feet are bolted to the asphalt.

"What did you say?"

"Keith's in town, and I thought I might try to hook him up with Regina since she needs a good man to shake her out of her 'no man' funk, and since he's a novelist and since she's a librarian, I thought they'd be a good fit. Also he's super fucking hot."

Robin growls in his throat.

She holds up her hands. "Whoa, tiger."

"Regina is going on a date tonight with him tonight?"

"Yes, she is."

"She's not fucking going on a date. Not with some other guy."

"Don't even start with me, Robin Locksley," Belle says, grabbing his arm and making them stop. She steps in front of him so that he has to look at her. "You had your chance with her, and you blew it. And besides, you aren't interested in anything more anyway, right? Why the fuck do you care what Regina does?"

 _Because she's his._

 _Because her baby's his._

But no, it isn't even those things, or at least it's more than them.

 _It's because he loves her._

The thought, with that one word like a flashlight swinging in the darkness of his mind, nearly takes him out at the knees. He loves her. He is in love with Regina Mills, sexy and careful and stubborn and fragile as she is, he is so fucking crazy in love with her.

"It's nothing." Robin says.

"I care about that woman, Robin, so it is important to me. Tell me you're not going to upset her. Tell me you're not going to go in there and make things more complicated for her."

"I can't tell you that."

"At least tell me you're not going to be a dick."

"I'm not going to be a dick."

With a sigh, Belle steps to the side. "Don't make me regret this," she warns him. "She better be on that date with Keith tonight."

After the warm sunlight outside, the library feels unnaturally dark and cool inside, a spacious cave lined with books. And it's nearly empty—aside from a lonely sort of beeping from the shelving room behind the desk, there's no other sign of human presence. Everyone is outside enjoying the perfect weather and free ice cream.

There's a flash of a white blouse towards the rightmost opening to the stacks. Robin heads towards the movement, not even thinking any more, just doing, just acting. He turns the corner to see Regina disappear between two rows of shelves, a book in her hand. He hurries up to her.

She turns and gives a little jump, sucking in her breath. "Robin, you scared me—"

"You're going on a date tonight?"

"Yes," she whispers. "But…"

"But what, Regina? But you weren't going to tell me? But you were just going to let another man touch you and want you?"

"I had to get Belle to stop bothering me about it, and you know what? It doesn't matter. We said we were done."

"We might be a lot of things. But done is not fucking one of them."

And then he brings her mouth crashing down against hers, a hard and hungry kiss that has her responding instantly, like he'd dropped a match into a puddle of kerosene. She's pressing against him, her hands snaking into vicious pulls of his hair, digging points into the muscles of his arms. He can hear her noises, the unwilling pants and sighs she makes as she practically tries to climb his body, as his hands find her ass and her tits and her inner thighs.

With a frustrated grunt, he yanks the zipper of her pencil skirt down past her ass and then together they tug the damn thing up past her hips. He doesn't wait for it to move up any farther; he breaks their kiss to concentrate on getting his fingers into her, where he can show her exactly how done they are.

"Let's see if you're wet for me," his fingers move closer to her.

She's wet for him.

The minute his two fingers nudge her entrance, she's grinding down on his hand and literally fucking herself on his fingers. He doesn't have to move them, he doesn't have to say anything to her, her body simply feels him and instinctively tries to come.

It's the hottest goddamn thing in the world.

"Do that on my cock."

She looks up at him with hungry eyes and swollen lips. "But what if a patron…"

"I don't fucking care."

"But someone could see…" her protest is faint though, full of longing.

"I'll be on the lookout, move for me, love." He unzips.

"Oh God," she moans.

Regina wriggles out of her thong and takes his cock in her hand, licking her lips as she rubs a thumb over his slit and smears the small teardrop of precum across his crown. "This is wrong," she whispers, and he doesn't know if she means fucking in the stacks or fucking him after they said we were done.

And it doesn't matter.

She turns so that she's facing away from him, puts one elegantly high-heeled foot up on a shelf, and then guides his tip to her swollen and needy opening. She slides herself back against his shaft, letting out a shaky breath as her foot drops off the shelf. He doesn't let her lean forward, instead placing an arm across her belly and curling a hand around her neck to keep her as upright as possible.

"Now move."

She whimpers a little, a whimper of pure, defeated desire, and then she starts to move.

She circles.

She grinds.

Here in the stacks, with her skirt around her waist and her high heels making dents in the industrial carpet, she rubs herself inside with his cock. And with his police uniform undone enough to show his cock, with his hair rumpled from her pulling it and her lip gloss still on her mouth.

"Does he know my baby's inside you? Does your date know that you're mine?" Robin asks.

"I'm not yours," she says, but her voice betrays her, breaking and uncertain. And she keeps herself speared on his cock. "We don't belong to each other."

"That's bullshit, and you know it." He pulls out.

"Give it back," she pleads, turning to him. "I need it."

"You need it?"

"That doesn't mean anything," she says. "It just means I'm hormonal. It just means we're sexually compatible." But she sounds like even she knows her words are lies. She's not fooling either of them.

He thrusts into her, she's so wet that it's an easy stroke back in. Her head falls forward against his shoulder as he bottoms out and he's somewhere deep inside her.

"You're mine, princess. You were mine the moment you let me feel you bare in that restaurant. You were mine the moment you let me kiss you so dirty outside of it. And you were definitely mine when you came around my cock and hoped I'd put a baby inside you."

"I'm not yours," she mumbles. And then another kiss and lick and nibble. "Oh fuck, Robin, just like that, it's so deep, Jesus, so fucking deep."

"You think another man can make you come like I do?"

Finally, honesty. She shakes her head. "No," she breathes against his neck. "Only you."

"Fucking right there's only me. And there's only you, love. No woman makes me as hard and big as you do."

She moans.

"I didn't mean for it to happen, Regina, I promise. I never meant for it to happen and I didn't think I even could, but I've fallen for you. I want to give you more than a baby, I want to give you _me_. I want to give you everything."

Her head comes up, her body going tense and rigid in his arms. "Robin, don't," she begs in a whisper, her panicked eyes looking into his. "Don't say it. It'll just make it harder."

Something cracks open in his chest, something dark.

"You don't want to hear it?" he asks. Then he starts pumping long and hard inside her.

He can't roar out his orgasm in the middle of this quiet library, so he growls his way through it, grunting with each thick pulse of his cum, each eruption of his hot, angry release. She takes him, takes it all, every cruel thrust and every surge, still whispering his name in that prayer voice as his own orgasm keeps hers going and going and going.

It takes a long time to unload in her, his balls are so full. But eventually, finally, they are both still, both panting and dizzy and emptied out.

When it's over and everything is righted, Regina turns to him. "I'm still not yours, Robin. And you can't be mine."

"Regina, I—"

"Don't say it," she pleads, her eyes starting to shine. "You can't say it."

"Let me," he pleads, taking her face in his hands.

She shakes her head, dewdrops of pain starting to form on her lashes. "You'll leave. All men do."

"No, Regina. I'm not going to leave."

"You're going to want other women."

"No, it's you, baby. I choose you. There's no one else after you or beside you, there's nothing I want other than our real thing."

She swallows and blinks away, tears spilling out of her eyes now. "You're going to die."

"Everyone's going to die. That doesn't mean we stop living." Robin swipes her tears away.

"You have to go get the boys, and I have to get ready to close the building. We can't do this."

"We have to do this, because I'm not giving up."

"You should," she says in a hollow voice, pulling away from him.

And then she walks down the aisle of books and disappears, leaving his thumbs still wet with her tears and his chest wet and sawed wide open with pain.

"What did Robin do to you?" Belle asks as she comes up to Regina.

"What?" Regina asks.

"You're crying, he made you cry." Belle said.

"I'm pregnant, Belle. I cry at everything."

"Tell me then. What thing set it off?"

"Those boys, those two boys."

"Officer Hunter's?"

"They're going to grow up without a father now, just because their dad was trying to be one of the good guys." Belle pulls Regina in a hug.

"But death is a risk that goes with the good guy thing. Gran never liked that part of Robin's job. I think she worried about it until the day she died. Honestly, it's probably why Robin doesn't let anyone get too close to him." She leans away to meet her eyes.

"Graham's wife knew what she was getting into before she married him, if that makes you feel better. She chose him anyway."

"His kids didn't get a choice. Now they're fatherless."

"That is worth crying about," she concedes. "Losing a parent while you're young is especially hard."

"Do you need to cancel tonight?"

"Yeah." Relief wraps around Regina. "I do. I'm sorry."

"No problem. I understand. I'll make an excuse for you."

"Thank you. I owe you."

Someone is knocking on Regina's door the next morning. Regina sees who it is and doesn't answer.

"Please. I need to talk to you."

Regina knows they need to talk, so she lets him in. They go into her living room and sit on the couch.

"Robin, I'm—"

"Please," he interrupts. "Let me go first."

"Okay."

"I was in patrol before I was in traffic," he starts. "Two years. It's exactly the kind of job that you think it will be. Standard 9-1-1 calls. Checks on the elderly. Domestic violence. Lots of home burglaries and car burglaries. Every time you show up at a call, you know you're going to see the worst of people."

"Even when you're checking on a senior, if the person's not dead when you get there—which they sometimes are—there's still a reason why the cops have been called. The house smells. The yard's neglected. It's pretty grim when a person's gotten too old or demented to care for him or herself and there's no one to step in and figure out the next step but us."

After glancing at her, he points somewhere down the street. "I used to check on a senior that lived over there. Mrs. Rayne. I helped her shovel snow. And I was the one who went in and found her body when the neighbor told us they hadn't seen her in a week."

"I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

"The first time I came here, you asked me what was wrong. Do you remember that?"

Regina nods.

"That was who I was thinking about. Mrs. Rayne."

"You should have told me,"

"There's that kind of story everywhere, though. Every street, every corner of the city holds an imprint. I couldn't unload all of that on you."

"It's not good for you to carry this all by yourself all the time," Regina says. "Please don't think you always have to."

"I talk to Pop sometimes," he says, and while she's glad he has that comfort, the ache inside her intensifies knowing that it should have been her he leaned on. "It does start to wear on you. It gets under your skin and in your blood. You start to think it's all you are and all you're worth—the awful things you see, the terrible things that people do."

"That's not all you are, Robin." There's not a bone of awful in him. Not a bit of awful, and she can't stand the thought that he thinks any different.

But he puts a hand out, silencing her. "You're right. And I'm getting there. I promise."

"It's better in traffic, I should tell you. But you're never pulling someone over to tell them they're an excellent driver. And there's a lot of accidents, Regina" He lowers his voice, soberly. "You see a lot of death."

"I can't imagine, this isn't-"

"I'm rambling, but I have a point." He turns and looks at her directly. "I was only twenty-two when I got out of the academy. I wasn't thinking about families or kids. And when it came time, when other guys started settling down and getting married, I couldn't understand how they were able to do that. How they could take everything awful that the job was and is and bring it home to a spouse, let alone kids."

"I decided I could never do that. I'd never have kids. I'd never have a wife. I made sure my life didn't allow for those things to even be options."

"That was a smart decision." Regina agrees.

"No, that was a stupid decision, Regina." His sharp tone draws his focus back to him. "It was the stupidest decision, because I let the job define everything I am. But like you said, I'm more than that, kitten. I have more than that to give to you and to our kid—"

"Robin—" she warns. It's not _our_ kid. It can't be.

He raises his voice to speak over her. "—and I'd forgotten that until I met you. But I remember now. You make me remember that I'm a whole person, and I want to be that whole person with you." He crosses to her and sits on the ottoman at his feet so he's close now. Too close. "I love you."

"Don't say that." But it's too late. He's said it and she heard it and it fills her everywhere like a light cast into a dark cellar. It's warm, his _I love you_ , and she wants to hold it and claim it and never let it go. She'll never unhear it now.

"Why?" he asks with patient frustration. "Because it will go away if you don't hear the words? I love you, and you can't change that. I love you, and it doesn't mean I'm not afraid. It means you're worth being afraid for."

He stretches out his hand and rests it on top of his. "Be afraid with me, baby."

"I can't," she says as she gets up to pace the room.

He twists to face her. "Why not?"

"You weren't part of the plan. You're just a sperm donor." Regina winces at the hurt flickering in his eyes. It hurts her to say it, but he has to hear it. It's the truth.

He stands, unwilling to give up. "Can you tell me that you don't love me?"

 _No. I can't._

"It doesn't matter. This isn't about just me anymore. I can't be Graham Hunter's wife, trying to explain to my child why Daddy's not coming home tonight."

He takes a step toward her. "You think that cops are the only people who die? What about my mom? What about the young couple in the accident I worked on last week? They left behind four kids, Regina. There's no assurances no matter what."

Regina shakes her head.

"I get it, baby. I do." His voice is a balm, soothing and soft. "You're scared and it's okay to be scared. But you're so afraid of losing the thing you want that you won't let yourself have it in the first place."

Robin reaches for her, and her body leans toward him like metal pulled to a magnet.

But she can't do this. "Don't. I need a minute."

Regina goes to the bathroom and locks the door. She has to pee.

She doesn't know how to make this choice. What if she screws up? What if she chooses wrong?

Her head is still whirling as she finishes up. She wipes and is about to flush when something catches her eye. Something very red and very bad. She wipes again to be sure it's not just mild spotting.

It's not mild spotting. It's blood. Too much blood.

And suddenly the reasons for the panic and terror and anxiety she's been feeling seem small and ridiculous and out of place, and new panic and terror bursts out of her in a shrill scream of just one word.

"Robin!"


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N-Special thanks to Bekki for beta reading this. Also thanks to all who have read, reviewed this story.**_

His body responds with an electric jolt, and he's on his feet at the bathroom door in the space of a heartbeat. "Regina?"

Her voice is choked with panic when she answers. "I'm bleeding."

His own panic thrums through his chest, metallic and whirring. He's read enough pregnancy books by this point to know that this is really, really bad. And all he wants to do is rush in there and cradle her in his arms and also call 9-1-1 and also just _fix it_ , because that's what he does, he shows up to a scene and fixes things.

And then a calm settles over him—not as detached as it would be on a call, but still rational, still capable and in control. He can handle an emergency. He's an expert at emergencies, actually, and it's never mattered more than in this moment, when his heart is on the other side of a bathroom door from his body, bleeding and scared.

"Regina, I need to come in there. May I?"

"Hurry," she says, her voice quiet, and he hears the lock slide open. He opens the door.

She's on the edge of her tub across from her cabinet, which is open and spilling forth a pastel pile of wrapped pads. She has one in her fist, but she's not moving to put it in her panties.

She's not moving at all.

He squats down and brushes her hair away from her face. "We have to go to the ER, sweetheart. We have to go right now."

She doesn't respond, except the trembling in her hands increases. He covers them with his own and gets all the way to his knees. "I need you to be strong for the baby right now, okay?"

 _And for me_ , he wants to add. But he doesn't, because it's his turn to be strong for her.

"Does it hurt?" Robin asks.

She shakes her head. "It feels like nothing. No pain. Just blood."

He breathes out a small sigh of relief. Bleeding is bad, but bleeding without cramping is slightly better. He's already mentally mapped routes to all the nearest hospitals, and decided it will actually take less time for him to take her in the Audi than to wait for an ambulance.

She finally looks at him, her eyes starting to gloss over. "What if the baby is dead?" she whispers. "What if I only got to have it for such a short time and it died?"

"Then we hold on to the feeling that we got to love a baby, no matter how briefly." He squeezes her hands and then he stands up, helping her stand too. "But this baby's not done fighting to live, and neither are you. Which is why we're going to the hospital right now."

She moves slowly, jerkily, like a marionette with tangled strings, but his words have roused her a little. "Should we call 9-1-1?" she asks as she unwraps the pad and puts it in her panties. It should feel nice that she's doing something so private in front of him, but it worries him instead. She must be terrified if she's letting her walls fall down, especially when she seemed so determined just five minutes ago to build even more walls between them.

"It'll take them longer to get to us and get us to an ER than it would be for us to drive ourselves. And they won't be able to do much for this kind of thing anyway."

She pulls up her pants and nods slowly. "Okay then."

He pulls her into a tight hug. "Do you trust me?"

She nods against his chest. "Yeah. I do."

"Then I'm going to make it okay."

He takes her hand and leads her out to his car, and she lets him.

Robin breaks almost every traffic law he knows of on the drive to the hospital. At a safe speed, obeying all lights and stops, it would be a ten-minute drive. But with Regina silent and bleeding next to him and his hand gripping the gearshift like it's keeping them alive, he gets to the hospital in less than five minutes. This ER has valet parking, thank god, because there's not a snowflake's chance in hell he's leaving Regina alone even for as long as it takes him to park a car.

He pulls up to the curb and climbs out of the driver's seat, and as he does, he feels the light bite of something against his thigh. The bite of something cold and small and hard in his jeans pocket, something he had the boys help him pick out last night. Something he brought with him to Regina's house this morning, back when he hoped…

The feel of it _now_ , when Regina has so thoroughly shut him out and the pregnancy is in danger, is almost too much. A dagger twisting between the ribs. After Regina is out of the car, he gives his keys to the valet in exchange for a ticket. He recognizes the triage nurse when they walk in.

"Officer Locksley," she says, surprised. "Don't usually see you without the uniform." And she's right, he does walk through these doors pretty frequently, usually on follow-up for accidents.

"It's not a good morning," he says, with the kind of understatement that is the first language of cops and trauma nurses.

She nods, looking past him to Regina, who is pale and quiet. "Let's get you triaged and in a room then."

There is the usual process of emergency rooms—blood pressure and temperatures and dates of last menstrual cycles and Regina repeating the same information over and over again. Yes, she's bleeding. Maybe a few tablespoons, maybe more. No, there's no pain.

Then there's a urine sample to leave, a short wait in the waiting room, and then the nurse comes in to bring Regina back to a room. He hesitates when they stand up from their waiting room chairs. He wants nothing more than to go back with her—the need to is cell-deep, urging him to stay by the woman he loves and their baby—but he has to respect Regina's wishes. Her need for walls and privacy.

Regina reaches for his hand and refuses to let go. She doesn't say anything, but the nurse's gaze flicks between them, assessing, and he can tell he's already locked into the role of "baby's father" in her mind. If Regina doesn't say anything, the staff will assume that he's welcome back there.

"Regina?" He tries to sound solid, stable, but his heart is pounding. He wants to go back there. He doesn't want Regina out of his sight for a second.

Regina doesn't answer, but she squeezes his hand.

He squeezes back, hoping it tells her all the things he can't. That he'll be by her side as long as she wants him, that he's here for all the ugly and scary parts. That he's here to be strong for her.

"If you guys will just follow me," the nurse says.

They walk together back to the room, Regina leaning into him. He has to remind himself that it doesn't mean all the things he wants it to mean, it just means that Regina wants someone with her right now, not that she's moved on from all the things they talked about earlier this morning.

But God, he wants it to mean everything.

It's a Sunday morning, and so the ward is as quiet as he's ever seen it, but Regina still seems a little overwhelmed by the slow bustle of nurses and techs wheeling machines around and the low sound of someone moaning from a room. He's been in this ER with his hand clamped over a woman's gashed artery, he's tackled violent drunks who've attacked nurses here, he's accepted a stale donut from a nurse while they watched the other nurses forcibly catheterize a man who refused to willingly leave an urine sample after he mowed down an elderly man gardening by his sidewalk.

He's not overwhelmed by the Sunday Morning ER.

They get into her room and the nurse asks her to change into a gown, and then whisks out through the weirdly patterned curtain all ER rooms seem to have. Regina takes a deep breath and then another one, and before she can ask, he puts his hand on the curtain to leave too so she can dress in privacy.

"Stay," she says quietly. "Please."

His chest collapses inward with a pained gratitude. "Of course."

He still turns to give her space as she dresses, and then he feels a small tap on his arm.

"Will you help me with the ties in back?" she asks, and there's a note of something in her voice that adds to the collapsing-with-gratitude feeling. Like she's asking for something more than having her gown tied. Like she's admitting she doesn't want to do everything on her own any more.

Like she's admitting that she wants him.

After he ties it, she arranges herself on the bed, and he steps forward to unfold the blanket, which is still warm from the mysterious blanket warmer hospitals have. She looks up at him in surprise as he silently spreads it over her legs, and then a look of relief and comfort passes over her face.

"Thank you," she murmurs. "Feels nice."

He squeezes her knee, but he doesn't answer. He doesn't know if he can. There's so much in the air between them right now—the painful things he admitted to her, her rejection of him, the danger the pregnancy is in. The thing in his pocket that she doesn't know about.

After a minute or two of silence, she says, "I have something for you. In my purse."

Now, it's his turn to be surprised. "A present?"

She blushes a little. "Well, no. It's a library book. I checked it out in your name."

"It's the gray book," she comments as he opens her purse to see that she has not one, but three library books wedged inside. A glow warms his chest at the sight. Regina working in a library is like an alcoholic working in a liquor store. Except it's so fucking adorable, he can't stand it. His bookworm. His librarian.

"It's Dylan Thomas," Regina says, as he flips through the pages.

"The 'Do Not Go Gentle' guy?" Robin realizes that maybe he read him in college after all, but he thinks he was too busy hitting on the TA to absorb much of the actual poetry.

"Yes," she says. "And also he was an alcoholic and chronically unfaithful and not a little emotionally manipulative. But his words are magic. And this last week, after Officer Hunter died, I thought of his poems. How they're sad and somehow energizing at the same time. He writes about death the way it should be written about."

He starts to read to her, about birth and death. Of second chances.

The sono tech comes in, oblivious to the strained silence she created, hums to herself as she sets everything up. Then she turns to him with a polite smile that is more "no-nonsense" than it is polite, really.

"Do you mind stepping out so we can have some privacy?" she asks.

Robin glances at Regina, who still looks caught in the moment of trying to talk to him, and then with as much grace as he can muster while his heart is tearing itself out of its chest, he stands up to go.

He's just the sperm donor, after all.

"He can stay," Regina says softly, and he freezes. She clears her throat so she's louder. "I want him to stay."

There's a pause, and then she adds with a shy smile, "He's the father."

Her eyes meet his, and he doesn't think he's imagining the shine to her eyes, but it's kind of hard to tell because his own eyes are burning, probably just allergies or the gusty air conditioning or—

Ah, fuck it. Yes, he's crying.

He's the father.

The sono tech shrugs as she rolls a condom onto the sonography wand. He tearfully frowns at it as he pulls a chair up next to Regina's bed. "What's that for?" He asks.

Both women give him patronizing smiles. "It's for the ultrasound, dummy," Regina tells him.

He's seen people torn open on the pavement, he's seen EMTs jam giant syringes into near-comatose diabetics, he's felt someone's sternum crack as he administered CPR, but his ultrasound knowledge is extremely limited. "I thought ultrasounds happened on your stomach?"

The tech laughs and squirts a glob of clear lube onto the wand with a loud _ffffbbbbbtttt_ noise. "Not this early in the pregnancy. It's going in the same place where the baby got made."

He's horrified. He doesn't remember the baby books _or_ Belle mentioning anything about this.

But Regina is completely nonplussed as the tech hands her the wand to guide it inside herself under the sheet. Her face screws up to one side, as if it's uncomfortable, and he feels the urge to fix it somehow, but before he can speak, the wand is inside Regina and the machine's screen comes to life with clouds of black and white static.

He has no idea what the hell he's looking at, whether it's good or bad, but the sono tech taps on her keyboard and moves the wand and adjusts the knobs and suddenly a dark oval appears. A dark empty oval.

Regina's breath sucks in and so does his. He knows empty means vacant. Empty means bad.

He takes her hand and holds it tight. He's here with her no matter what, and no matter what, they'll make it through this. Then the sonographer moves the wand just a little more, and he sees it. A little seed curled up in a sea of dark, and then a _whomp-whomp-whomp_ sound comes through the machine.

"There's the heartbeat," the sonographer says with a smile. "Baby is doing just fine in there."

"Oh thank God," Robin breathes.

Next to him, Regina bursts into tears.

The tech takes a few pictures and then adjusts some more knobs and moves the wand again. The baby bean with its strong heartbeat disappears and reappears on the screen, like a picture coming in and out of focus. But the third time it happens, there's something else on the screen too, next to their baby seed. In fact, it looks like nothing more than a second baby seed, suspended upside down in Regina's belly, thinking little, silent baby seed thoughts.

Regina and him look at each other with wide eyes and then back to the screen.

 _Whomp-whomp-whomp_ goes the machine again.

"And there's the second heartbeat," the sonographer says, as if it's the most casual thing in the world. "You're having twins."

"Twins?" The word feels wrong in her mouth, as though he's mispronounced it or said the wrong thing all together.

But he sees the picture on the screen as clear as anything, and even if he didn't, the ultrasound technician confirms it. "Twins. Let me take some measurements and then I'll print some pictures for you to take with you."

She knows her eyes are wide when she turns to Robin. "Twins," she says, dazed.

His knee is bouncing with nervous energy and his hand is clutching hers as tightly as mine's clutching his, but his entire face is lit with excitement. "Twins, Regina! Told you I had super sperm."

A giggle escapes through the bubble of terror that has surrounded her since she first saw the blood. "Exactly. This is your fault." She giggles again. She can't stop giggling as she returns her gaze to the monitor. Back to her babies.

"What?" Robin asks, chuckling too.

"I'm just…" It's hard to talk over the fit of giggles. It's even harder to explain this incredible, overwhelming, brutally tender joy that she's feeling. "I'm just happy," she says, finally, tears brimming at her eyes.

"Yeah," Robin says reverently. "Me too."

The tech types something into the computer. "It looks like Baby One is measuring at seven weeks two days and Baby Two is measuring at seven weeks exactly. So, based on that, we'd say you're seven weeks one day along."

She mentally pulls up her calendar app in her head. "I've kept accurate records. I should be just shy of seven weeks."

"Our measurements might be off, but it's also likely that you ovulated earlier than you thought you did."

She looks at Robin. "The patrol car."

"Seriously?" He lowers his voice though the room is small enough the tech can probably hear him anyway. "Neighborhood Hot Cop knocked you up?"

She giggles again at the name of the game they'd played that night. "Yep. Neighborhood Hot Cop knocked me up."

Then she has to turn away and bite her lip so she doesn't start crying again in earnest because, goddammit, she loves this hot cop. More than she's ever wanted to admit. And today he's been perfect, in every way. She was so scared, and Robin was calm and stable and everything she needed. He was the only person she wanted beside her, and as she sits here looking at their twin baby apple seeds, she can't imagine not having him beside her for all of the rest of it.

She wants to tell him, and she will, but before she can figure out what to say, the sonographer is handing them a strip of black and white printouts of their twin embryos and packing up her ultrasound machine.

"The doctor will be in soon to talk to you," she says as she leaves.

Robin looks over her shoulder as she studies the grainy pictures of their babies. They're barely anything right now. Just little specks, but they have hearts and kidneys and stumps that will soon be legs and arms. And already she's so in love with them she can barely hold all she feels inside.

"They're so beautiful." She wishes she knew what he was thinking. If he still wanted her now that she was bringing two babies to the relationship. "Don't you think they're beautiful?"

"Well." He squints at the apple seed shapes.

She laughs. "They're going to look more baby-like eventually."

"They better. Or we're going to have a hell of a time telling them apart." He grows serious. "But, yes, I think they're beautiful. Like their mom. How are you feeling about two of them?"

Isn't that the question of the hour? It's overwhelming, but she already can't think of them as anything but a pair.

"I want them. I love them. It's not what I planned, that's for sure." She sighs and looks up at him. "You weren't what I planned either."

He seems about to say something, but the curtains swing open and in walks a petite woman in a white lab coat, a stethoscope around her neck and a patient chart in her hand.

"Hi, I'm Dr. DeMarto," she says quickly, as though she has places to be. "You're Regina Mills?"

She confirms her identity and birth date and then says, "I've had a chance to look at your ultrasound results and everything looks fine with both babies. One of the placentas is forming rather close to the cervix, so my guess is that's why we saw some bleeding today. But that's nothing that has to be scary, and some light bleeding early in pregnancy can be normal. We'll just want to keep an eye on it, and worst-case scenario, you might find yourself on bed rest for a while. So follow up with your OB this week for regular prenatal care and also to talk to them about the low placenta, and that should take care of you. Any questions?"

Regina's so grateful that the babies are okay, and still in shock that she has more than one baby inside her, that she can't really think of any questions off the top of her head. "I see my OB on Tuesday. I'm sure if I have any questions, I can ask then."

"I have a question," Robin says tentatively.

Dr DeMarto looks to her before she nods for him to go ahead.

"Is the bleeding…? Could this have been caused because…?" He can't seem to form the question the way he wants. Finally, he blurts it out. "Was this from sex?"

Her face goes warm, but when she looks at him, she sees nothing but concern, and she realizes he's worried that their rough sex in the library might have harmed their babies.

"Certainly, there can be light bleeding immediately after intercourse," Dr. DeMarto says without blinking. "But that's normal and nothing to be alarmed about. Intercourse during pregnancy is safe unless a doctor tells you otherwise."

Robin starts to ask something else, but the doctor guesses what it is and adds, "And I'm a doctor, and I'm not telling you otherwise."

"Got it." His shoulders relax. "Thanks, Doc."

The next half hour passes in a buzz of activity. Nurses and technicians come in to unhook her from the vitals machine and go over discharge paperwork and insurance information. Finally, she's dressed, the pics of the babies are tucked in her purse, and they're ready to leave.

When they walk out of the ER, Belle is in the waiting room. Her eyes are pinned on the doors so she sees them right away and waves them over.

"I texted her," Robin admits guiltily. From his expression, she can tell he's worried he mis-stepped. Or he's worried about them, about where they stand right now, and that's fair. She's worried too. They have a lot to worry about.

So he doesn't need to worry about this too. "I'm glad you texted her," she tells him honestly.

She's fidgeting like it's taking all she has not to run to them. But she's tentative too, unsure what they've found out about her pregnancy, whether it's good news or bad.

"Is everything going to be okay? With the baby?" Belle asks softly, as though loud words might wake their sleeping fetus.

"Yes. I'm all good," Regina says, and she audibly sighs in relief as she hugs her tightly. "I have to keep an eye on it, but light bleeding can be normal, according to the doctor."

"It can be totally normal. I had light bleeding with Kevin and the kid got here with no other problems. In fact, I spotted through the whole entire nine months. It can be terrifying, but just wait. This is only the beginning. There's a ton of other terrifying shit that can happen. Did I tell you about what happened when I was still pregnant with—"

"Belle!" Robin exclaims. He waits for her attention before he says, "Not the time."

"Probably should save those stories for after I give birth. I kind of scare easily." Regina gazes up at the brave man at her side. "Or, I did."

He smiles, just a little, and the way he gazes back down at her could melt an iceberg of fear.

Belle notices their mooning, but she doesn't address it outright. "Sure, sure. Wasn't thinking. But! I brought you a present. I was saving this for your baby shower, but it seems like a good time to give it to you now. It just came yesterday. I had to special order it."

She digs through her purse and pulls out a baby onesie and holds it up so they can both read it. _I know a lot but my aunt knows everything._

"Uh…aunt?" She's not sure if that's what she's coined herself or if Robin has already told her.

"Yeah, Regina. _Aunt_." She points at her. "Because I know you pretty well." Then she points at Robin. "And I sure as hell know him. And there's no way this baby isn't his. He's been moony-eyed and dazed since the minute he brought the kids to the library, out of the blue, on a weeknight to hunt down the cutie he'd met on a call. So, yes. I'm an aunt. And I know everything. Admit it."

"I'll admit you're kind of a brat," Robin says.

"Well, you don't know _everything_ ," Regina scowls, "And you're going to have to get a second one."

Belle's eyes dart from Regina's to her brother's. "I'm not following."

Regina nods to Robin. He should be the one to tell her. She's his sister and these are his babies.

He lights up when he says it. "We're having twins."

It sounds so good to hear him say _we._ Like it's natural. Like there couldn't be any other way, and there couldn't be. He was always meant to be their dad. From the very beginning, she picked him partly because he was so amazing with Joey and Kevin and even Violet, and no matter how many times she told herself it was because she simply wanted those good genes in her child, the truth is, part of her always imagined him like that with their kid. Snuggling their kid against his chest, pulling their kid in a wagon, taking their kid to the library. Helping their kid with homework.

They spend the next several minutes talking about the babies and their health and what she's supposed to do over the next few weeks, which mostly ends up being Belle telling them what she thinks Regina should do based on her own experiences with her pregnancies. Finally, Robin suggests that they should leave the medical advice to the doctors, and she gets huffy and says she should go and check on Pop then since no one else is looking after him at the moment and at least there her advice is wanted.

"Tolerated," Robin corrects.

Her eyes narrow, but before she can explode, Regina brings her in for another hug. "I want your advice, Belle. All of it. Not today, maybe, but I'm coming to you for everything."

"I'm glad you were into my brother," she says when she pulls away, her eyes glossy. "Or rather, I'm glad you let my brother be into you."

"Alrighty then!" Robin pushes her not so gently toward the doors. "See ya later, sis."

"I'm glad too," Regina calls after her. "Thank you for coming to the hospital. And for the onesie!"

"Yes. Thank you, Belle," Robin shouts before turning to her.

Then they're alone.

Well, not exactly alone, because there are all sorts of people buzzing around them—other patients and nurses and doctors and a security guard and these two little apple seeds wrapped snugly in her womb with heartbeats so strong she got to hear them with her own ears.

But it's alone enough to feel the weight of all the unsaid things they carried into the hospital with them this morning. Silently, they stare at each other, with these boulders of unspoken words on their backs, and it doesn't feel awkward, but it feels heavy. Like they're both carrying such a tremendous load, and both of them are so sure that there has to be a way to make it lighter. If they can just find a way to carry it together.

She's the one who speaks first, since she thinks it's her turn. She throws the ball right back at him though because she's braver than she was, but not that brave. Yet. She still needs him to guide her. Still needs him to help him be strong. "So what now?"

Obviously he's going to give the ticket to the valet and they'll bring his car around and that's what's now.

"Well," he says, stalling. "I think you get to choose your own adventure."

"Um. Okay?" she tilts her head, imploring him to go on.

"When I was a kid, I loved those books. You know, the ones where you read a few pages and then at the bottom it says, 'If you want to rescue the princess, go to page 74; if you want to stay and fight the boss, go to page 58'?"

"Yes," she says smugly. "I know those books."

"Right. You know books." He chuckles. "Anyway. Right now, you get to choose your own adventure. You can either have me drive you back to your home, and you can do this all on your own. Raise two kids with as much or as little help from me as you want. I can be there for them if you let me. None of your choosing has to be about them."

"Or." He takes a nervous step toward her. "You can let me drive you to my house so we can tell Pop together that he's going to have to stop being stubborn and take my bedroom. And then I can move my girl and my babies in with me where they belong. There's a master and two bedrooms upstairs, Regina. It's perfect for all of us."

"The thing I wanted to tell you earlier, at my condo…" Regina swallows, trying to find her voice because what's coming out sounds small and shaky, not like hers at all. "I thought I needed to be as far away from you as possible. I couldn't be around you and not want you. So I called a realtor last night to put my place up for sale. I was going to move."

They have to be hard words to hear, but his gaze remains steady and hopeful. "And now?"

"I guess I'll still need the realtor. If I'm moving in with you and all."

Her eyes are wet and cloudy, but she can still see Robin perfectly when, in front of everyone in the ER waiting room, he falls to his knees in front of her. Well, one knee.

"What are you doing? Get up!" But her heart is racing and she's really crying now and there's no way she actually wants him to get up because he's digging into his pocket and pulling out a diamond solitaire ring.

"Regina, marry me. Raise our babies with me. Grow old with me and watch bad movies with me and talk dead poets with me and go shopping with me and watch the baseball games with me. Let me love you and make love to you and hold you when you're scared. Be my rock, when I need to lean on someone." He grabs her hand and clutches onto it. "Hold _me_ when I'm scared. Be afraid with me."

She wipes tears off her face with her free hand, but it's useless. New ones replace the ones she's removed. "I'm tearing up our contract."

His eyes twinkle gently. "Oh Regina. That contract was never real anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"You're a fantastic librarian, but you'd make a terrible lawyer."

"But you signed it anyway?"

"I was going to honor your wishes no matter what I did or didn't sign, so it didn't matter to me and it seemed important to you," he says. His eyes twinkle more. "Also, I really, really wanted to sleep with you."

He kisses her so she can't hold it for long. When he lets her breathe again, he meets her eyes. "So...is all that a yes?"

She's nodding when she answers. "I choose you, Robin. I choose the adventure. I'm tired of being scared and alone and safe. I've been so afraid of dying, I've forgotten to live. I want to be alive with you. I love you so much."

Then he's kissing her again, and he's so happy he stands up and takes her with him. Her feet dangle off the ground while he kisses her and kisses her, but then they have to stop kissing because they've drawn a crowd and no one knows yet what she's answered until Robin sets her down and shouts, "She said 'yes'!"

Their onlookers clap and cheer. A few know Robin personally and they call out specific congratulations, but it all fades into background noise as he takes her hand and slides the ring onto her finger.

"I love you, Regina," he says, his gaze hot on her face as she stares at her new beautiful diamond. "And I love you." He bends to kiss her belly. Then he kisses it again. "And I love you."

His eyes return to her. "I can't promise I know the future, but I can promise I'll do everything I can to protect and keep you safe. All of you."

"All of _us_. _You_ too. Don't do any stupid cop things, okay?" She knows that's his job and it's important to him, but she wants him to know that his life is important to her.

"No stupid cop things. Only regular cop things." He runs his knuckles reassuringly down the side of her neck. "I'm a safe cop, Regina. The people I'm supposed to help come first, but after them, I'll do everything I can to make sure I come home to you."

"I know you will." She doesn't know what will happen in the future either, and it's still scary, but she trusts him. And she loves him. And that's worth being afraid for. Their little family is worth being afraid for.

"Let's go home now, okay?"

"'Home,'" he says, closing his eyes as he drags out the "mm." "That sounds good when you say it."

It sounds good when he says it too. Like they've chosen it together. Like they're both turning to the same page in their very own _Choose Your Own Adventure_.

 _ **One Year Later**_

"Fuck, that's nice," Robin grunts, sliding his cock into Regina's waiting mouth. "Suck it good, baby."

His wife obeys with an eagerness that makes his balls tight, closing her lips around him and pulling him deep. She pushes in until she feels her throat savor the slick and soft heat of it, and then pulls back out to admire her. He's got her handcuffed to the bed, flat on her back with her handcuffed wrists secured to the headboard and her ankles tied to the edges of the footboard, spreading her so she's nice and open for him. Her tits, ripe and full, jut up towards the ceiling, and her hips squirm as she aches with empty agony. He's given her an orgasm with his tongue and then another one with a wand vibrator tonight, intentionally starving her of his fingers and his cock for this exact purpose. To make her insane with need.

"Robin," she breathes, blinking up at her and still squirming. "Please."

"You want to be fucked, sweetheart?"

She groans in response, throwing her head back, which only serves to push her tits up higher. Now it's his turn to groan, and he runs a finger from one peaked nipple down to a quivering thigh. The moment his fingertip brushes the sensitive crease between her thigh and her slit, she cries out.

"Yeah, you need it bad," Robin says in a low voice. He gives her inner thigh a smart smack and then moves himself in between her legs. "All tied up and begging for it."

She tries to lift her hips to get closer to his cock, which is hanging like a heavy pipe as he leans over her, the head swollen and slick with pre-cum. "Don't tease me," she says in a moan, "Robin, fuck me with it, please, please, please."

The truth is that he's the one who's really needing it bad. It's been pure torture tonight to pleasure her without coming himself. But that's okay because he's here now, his crown kissing the wet heat of her, and he's going to hold her hips down and fuck her until they break the bed.

With a few small adjustments, he's thrusting into her, and he's about to black out it feels so good. "Fuck, you feel so good."

Regina's smile is half pride, half mischief. She angles her hips up, and he goes so deep he hear angels sing.

"Harder," she breathes with a big, happy smile. "Go harder."

He starts moving faster and deeper and he can feel himself, getting close, closer.

A loud, angry wail crackles through the baby monitor on the end table. They both freeze, sweaty and high with sex hormones.

Another angry wail, now joined by a sleepier, more confused cry. Underneath him, a small drop of milk runs down the side of Regina's breast. And he laughs. His balls ache, yes, but they're ridiculous and sweaty and milky and hornier than teenagers because between two needy twins—and a grandfather who's only just moved into a senior living apartment in the last week—real, unfettered fucking has been hard to come by. Most nights they're lucky if they can sneak in a quickie in the shower. But tonight, by some miracle, the twins had fallen asleep early and they thought maybe they could make up for some lost time…

Rookie mistake.

But he wouldn't trade this life for anything, not the crying or the cock-blocking babies or the days so busy and packed with laundry and spit-up and washing breast pumps and bottles that they barely have time to climb under the covers before they're asleep. It's all so fucking precious to him.

So it's with a smile that he leans down and licks the drop of milk off Regina's breast. She shivers. "Tell me we'll finish this," she says, looking up at him with needy eyes.

"We'll finish this," he promises in a husky voice, giving her tit one last lick.

"Hope's too hungry to wait. Put her in bed with me so she can start eating."

"Be right back, babe." He puts on some lounge pants and hurries.

Hope's worked herself up to a five-alarm fire by the time he walks into the nursery. She's just gotten the knack of sitting up on her own, and right now she's sitting in the middle of the crib, chubby fists clenched in fury, screaming. He flicks on a light and heft the chunk up into his arms, where her screaming abates—a little. She knows he's transportation to Mommy and therefore extends him the grace of lowering her bellows the tiniest bit.

He can't resist giving her a little squeeze—she's like a stuffed sausage in her footie pajamas—and giving the dark curls on her head a big kiss. Then with the ease born of lots and lots and lots (did he mention lots?) of practice, he carries her over to the other crib and scoops Roland out with one hand, so that he's got both babies tucked into his elbows.

Robin croons to Hope wordlessly as he hitches Roland up a little higher and they go to find Mommy. Once Hope sees her, she starts kicking frantically in his arms, reaching for Regina like Regina is the only thing in the world that matters. And hey, he knows the feeling—aside from these two squishes, Regina is his entire world too.

Robin sets Roland down in a bouncy chair, turns the vibrations and songs on with the edge of his foot against the switch, and then gives Hope to Regina. Robin watches as his wife nurses their little girl. He then rescues Roland from his bouncy chair. He's wide awake now but totally calm and he stares at him with deep blue eyes as he changes his diaper and then sits with him in the glider, cuddling him close. He's just as squishy as his sister but less demanding, happy to wait his turn in his arms.

Regina looks across the room at him, her eyes warm. "You're so sexy when you're holding a baby. Especially all shirtless like that."

"You're so sexy all the fucking time. No matter what."

She rolls her eyes and drops her gaze to their daughter, who is finally starting to slow down on the milk. "Liar."

But it's true. She was a bombshell wearing leggings and a T-shirt when they first met. Even more of a bombshell on their wedding day, five months pregnant and glowing in a tight lace gown that showed off every gorgeous curve. She was even more beautiful on the day the twins were born, sweet and nervous and stubborn on the operating table, dark tendrils of hair escaping her puffy blue cap.

And now she's the sexiest of all to him. He knows she doesn't believe him when he tells her that, but he's never gotten harder for her than he does now, never been as obsessed with her body, never needed to have her so close to him and never needed so much to lavish her with kisses and caresses. She's softer now, her belly streaked with stretch marks and carved with a low dark scar, and even though she's shy about her tummy, he's in awe of her every time he sees it. In awe of her strength, of her body growing and carrying _two_ entire lives inside it. And okay, yes, there's some fucked up male pride involved. She carried _his_ babies, and every reminder of that makes him want to tackle her and get her pregnant again.

It's not all that abstract, though. She smells different, intoxicating. Her skin itself is addictingly soft. Her tits are full and ripe and spill over his hands when he tries to hold them. Seeing her curled around one of their babies as she nurses sends bolts of pure elemental lust through him. It's all caveman, the urge to protect her and their babies and also to plant more babies inside her.

Robin can tell by the deep baby snores coming from the bed that Hope has finally filled her little belly, and he stands up and helps Regina swap out babies. She rolls over to give Roland a fresh breast and snorts at the Hope lump in his arms, who is now passed out harder than any drunk he's ever seen.

"You look just like your mother, I'm going to have a hard time in about sixteen years." Robin said not looking forward to that day.

"Robin," Regina whispers softly. "I think Roland might be asleep too."

 _Thank you, patron saint of hungry twins and also the patron saint of alone time for Mommy and Daddy._

Within a few moments, he's got both babies snoozing in their cribs, and he's back in bed with his wife, pants off and long forgotten.

"You know…" Robin teases, as he runs a hand over Regina's body. "You turned thirty a couple of months ago, and I haven't heard you once talk about how you're turning into a living zombie. I think you might have gotten over your fear of dying."

Regina arches underneath his touch, a naughty smile on her face as she reaches down for his cock and pumps it until it's stone-hard again. "I found the cure for my fear."

He grabs her hips and pulls her on top of him, jabbing into her and savoring her gentle moan as she sinks down to the hilt. "Is the cure my cock? Or my super, Captain America sperm that gives you squishy soon-to-be avengers for justice?"

She laughs, leaning down to kiss him. "No, Mr. Officer Blue Eyes. The cure for fear of dying is _living_. You taught me that."

Her words cut him in the best of ways, warm him until he thinks his entire body might melt from loving this woman.

"Fuck, I love you, Regina," He breathes, his eyes pinned on hers.

"I love you, hot cop. And I swear to God if you don't finish what you started earlier tonight, I'm going to die for real." She scratches her nails down his abs to underscore her point.

And then he's out of jokes, out of playfulness.

And there's only sweat and kisses and adoration as they _live_ late, late, late into the night, as they live for their futures.

 _ **The End.**_


End file.
